Devolution
by Cat Jenkins
Summary: Sequel to "Evolution." Something went terribly wrong. Hotch's mind is deteriorating. Reid was warned NOT to meddle in others' psyches, but the whole team is wondering why he won't help Hotch. To find the cure, Reid must find the cause. And he better do it before Hotch's brain suffers permanent damage.
1. Collateral Damage

"It's starting again." Spencer Reid's voice was a fragment above a whisper.

His eyes remained shut, but the muscles throughout his body tensed. Rossi, J.J., Morgan and Prentiss saw the changes they had come to expect. That is, they'd come to expect it when cases required jet travel long enough to allow for nap-time.

Rossi sighed. "Is it bad, Reid?"

"Gettin' there." When Reid finally opened his eyes and craned around for a better view of the far end of the cabin, Rossi knew it was time to do something. Again.

The team watched him make his way back to where their Unit Chief was stretched out on the only seating installation long enough to accommodate a tall man. Hotch's nightmares were becoming a standard feature of group travel…a standard, cruel, self-perpetuating feature. The dreams kept him from restful slumber. He was always tired. After difficult cases, he was exhausted. He couldn't stay awake, but neither could he attain and remain in a state of sleep deep enough to allow his troubled psyche to repair itself. It was a vicious cycle that punished the entire team when they were forced to witness Hotch engaged in battle with the demons that rose from his subconscious to tear at him.

Rossi stood over the lanky, suit-clad figure and watched. Hotch's head rocked slightly from side to side, his lips moved, but didn't form words. He wasn't a screamer. The only cries he emitted were low moans. There was no mistaking them for the sounds of passion. They were clearly spawned by terror, horror, a desperate wish to escape some…thing. No one was sure what. Not even Hotch.

Every time Rossi would wake Hotch, the man would bolt upright with a strangled gasp. It sounded as though he was trying to muffle himself, trying not to show any chinks in his armor, in the strong façade he felt was necessary to lead his team. He would swing his legs around to a sitting position, bend over and bury his face in his hands, his breathing so labored it sounded asthmatic. When he would at last raise his head and look around, reassuring himself that he was in familiar surroundings, his eyes would fasten on Reid. Inevitably. Every time.

And they'd all know what he was thinking, because the same thought entered every team member's mind: _Why can't you help, Reid? With your telepathic abilities and your special connection to Hotch, why __**won't**__ you help him?_

Now, Rossi glanced back at the others. Four pairs of concerned eyes followed him, anticipating the now familiar routine. He leaned over, preparatory to shaking Hotch awake and hesitated. He was tired of the same old bird-dance that would accompany bringing the dreamer back to consciousness. _Maybe a different approach? Maybe if we __**didn't**__ let him hide?..._ He rubbed his beard, aware the team was wondering why he was allowing Hotch to linger in a dark place that was slowly consuming his physical and mental wellbeing.

Rossi braced himself. Instead of grasping Hotch's shoulders and shaking, he bent his knees, slid his arms under and around the Unit Chief's upper body and pulled him up off the banquette, raising him to a standing position and simultaneously wrapping him in a tight hug. After a few seconds of gasping struggle, the younger agent realized where he was. Deprived of being able to hide his face in his hands, Hotch went for the closest available approximation of concealment. He buried his face in the angle between Rossi's neck and shoulder.

But Rossi wouldn't allow any more hiding. Getting a firm grip on Hotch's upper arms, he pushed him back, forcing him to confront not only Rossi, but, over his shoulder, the rest of the team as well.

"This has gone far enough, Aaron." Rossi tightened his hold, refusing to let his friend break away. But it also made him aware of something else. _Good God, the man's trembling! How can he __**not**__ remember a dream that strikes that much terror into him?_ "You need help."

He shepherded the reluctant Unit Chief back to where the rest of the team waited, watching with expressions ranging from pity to sympathy to frustration. And, on Morgan's face…anger.

"You okay, man?" It was clear from Morgan's wary tone that he'd already decided how Hotch would answer. Something lay coiled behind the words, waiting for the trigger to release it.

Hotch nodded, letting himself be pushed into a seat. "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm…" It was a steady almost-mumble; the mantra he always fell back on when trying to make everyone, himself included, think there was nothing really wrong.

And _that_ was the trigger.

Morgan slammed his hand, open-palmed, against his armrest with a resounding _thwack!_ "Damn it, Hotch! You're falling apart! And if you think we're gonna stand by and watch it happen, then you're already certifiable, man!" Having opened the cage that let his rage-beast escape, Morgan went for broke. "And why don't you _help_ him, Reid? Every time he comes out of it and looks at you, can't you see he's asking?...begging? What's the worst that could happen?"

"I don't know." Reid sounded as miserable as Hotch looked. "And, yes, I understand it's been a year since all this started, but I still don't know what's possible…either good or bad." He rubbed a hand over his face, looking at Hotch's downcast eyes. "It's not like putting a Band-Aid on a cut, Morgan."

"Well, we have to do _something_, and it has to be soon."

Prentiss and J.J. exchanged looks.

"For those of us who weren't there for the whole thing, you think you could go over it one more time?" J.J. spoke softly, hoping to defuse the situation, and Morgan's anger in particular. Her liaison instincts told her making the men recount some of their experiences from the previous year would give tempers a chance to cool, and Hotch a chance to regulate his still ragged breathing.

And no matter how many times she'd heard the story, hearing it again was like additional verification. She knew repetition wouldn't alter the facts, but it was just so _weird_. Privately, she thought everything about this tiny group of people she loved was touched with strangeness now…ever since Spence had slipped and his mental abilities had been revealed to go far beyond an extraordinary IQ. _Strange…but not a freak…not a monster_, she reminded herself, touching once again on the young agent's soul-deep fear that his colleagues would ostracize him for having ESP, just as the rest of humanity had consigned him to loneliness by virtue of his intelligence.

_Except for Ana._ J.J. couldn't hide a small smile. The best thing to come out of the harrowing adventures sparked by Spence's mental evolution was Ana Ashcroft. No one would say as much, but they all knew that finding a girl almost as gifted as himself…a girl who found him attractive...had rescued Reid on so many levels. He'd been validated as a man, not just a genius. He'd matured and grown more confident. And, although no one had delved too deeply into the details, something else had happened during that time. Something between Hotch and Reid. The team could tell they were on more even footing. It was as though the alpha of the pack had accepted the youngest cub as an equal without feeling threatened by him. They'd grown closer.

And that was also part of the _worst_ thing that their sojourn at that deserted monastery had spawned. Reid had always suspected that his mental contact with their leader was a double-edged sword. Although it had saved Hotch's life and paved the way for the growth of so many good things in their relationship, it had also tampered with what should have remained untouched: Hotch's psyche. J.J. suspected she wasn't the only one who didn't have a clear grasp on the circumstances and consequences of it all. Even Spence seemed lost about how to repair whatever damage lingered in the Unit Chief's mind. Or exactly what the damage was. Or precisely how it had been done. The only thing they could all agree upon was that it was progressing.

As Reid _e_volved, Hotch _de_volved.

J.J. surfaced from her musings to hear the tail end of Rossi's summation of the previous year's events…the fallout of which was still affecting their boss.

"So that's it in a nutshell, children. Dr. Carol Bescardi wanted to turn Reid and Ana into her own personal, permanent lab installations. She nearly killed Hotch in the process. If it hadn't been for Reid's and Ana's combined efforts, he never would have made it back to civilization alive. If it hadn't been for Reid…helping…Hotch remember what happened to him, Bescardi wouldn't have been convicted for kidnapping, drugging and almost killing a federal agent. Now, the good doctor is doing time…" Rossi turned to look at their leader's averted face and placed a comforting hand on his back. "…and Hotch is still suffering from…something."

Reid's eyes were filled with worry and a touch of guilt as he gazed at the man sitting before him. When Hotch raised his eyes and returned the look, the rest of the team suspected _some_ form of communication was taking place. It was one of the side effects in the wake of the discovery and exploration of Reid's burgeoning talents. It was disturbing to see it, without being able to share in it. _Or maybe it's best __**not**__ to share_, J.J. thought. _We might __**all**__ be affected by whatever's pulling Hotch apart._

And the two agents _did_ share something. A secret. Neither had ever spoken about the other main player in the drama scripted by Dr. Bescardi when she invited her test subjects to an isolated, mountain retreat, ostensibly to gather data on their remarkable mental abilities. The elderly, nameless, ageless doctor who had _really_ saved Hotch's life. Reid and Ana had managed to keep him from drifting into death, but the kindly, old physician had been the one to pull him all the way back to the land of the living. He'd done it alone. He'd done it effortlessly. He'd done it secretly.

Afterwards, he'd said some cryptic words Hotch didn't completely understand about 'sorting' Hotch out should he ever need it. The doctor had also had a long talk with Reid and Ana, warning them to keep themselves in check…not to touch minds indiscriminately. They had been left with an impression of antiquity and power veiled in compassionate kindness.

There was so much more they had wanted to know, but they had also come away with the belief that they had to _earn_ knowledge about themselves. If given freely, the value would be cheapened. Perhaps irretrievably.

So now, Reid and Hotch locked eyes and both were thinking about the tiny town in the wilderness where a sage, old man with a healing touch waited. Even if Reid needed to travel his own path without aid so that he could truly benefit from and use his gifts, Hotch was another matter.

_Maybe he can help you, Hotch._

_I don't know, Reid. Right now I can't even describe what's wrong. Can't you…ya know…poke around and see if you can find anything? Maybe fix it? You've done it before…_

Reid's eyes filled with sympathy. The team watched in silence, knowing some sort of conversation was in progress.

_I can't do that anymore. That's what started this whole thing. That's why you're hurting now._ Reid broke eye contact. _We shouldn't even be communicating like this. Ever._

_I can't think straight. I don't know what to do. Help me. Please._

And there it was. The simple plea that Reid could no longer ignore. The team saw their young doctor sit up straighter. They were relieved when he reverted to normal speech.

"Let me talk to Ana. Okay?"

Hotch nodded. Then he did what they all hated. He bent over, brought his hands to his face and hid behind them. Rossi resisted the urge to grab the man's wrists and pull them away, forcing him to confront…something. _That's the problem. We don't know what that 'something' is. But it wasn't there a year ago._

The rest of the flight, no one heard a word from Hotch. Except Reid. It was like a mantra to replace, or maybe co-exist, with the 'I'm okay' version.

_Help me. Help me. Help me…_


	2. Homecomings

As Reid walked down the hallway, his apartment door opened.

So did his heart.

He was the only member of the BAU…_Of the human race, maybe!_...who would never need to call ahead to let anyone know he was back in town or on his way home. His grin widened as he realized that had always been the case. But a few months ago it was because there was no one waiting, no one to care. Now, it was because the one who waited for him _knew_ when he was closing in on her.

The door opened. A head of layered brown hair full of movement, that would always remind him of bird's wings fluttering, tilted up at him, and Reid experienced the sweetest moment of his life. At least, it would be the sweetest until the next one. And the next. And the one after that.

Anastasia Kassandra Ashcroft had brought a transformation with her. Reid's teammates could tell him again and again that there was nothing wrong with him, that they liked him, that he wasn't a weird freak. But it wasn't until he let his ESP-er talents grow and met Ana that he truly believed anything nice about himself.

Because with Ana it wasn't just words. He could read, could _feel_ the truth of her sentiments concerning him. Reid saw himself through her eyes and for the first time he was able to believe that he was loveable. He looked in the mirror as he shaved in the mornings and still acknowledged the skinny, awkward misfit. But he was a skinny, awkward, _loved_ misfit. It made all the difference.

Ana made all the difference.

So he'd proposed and she'd accepted, saying if he hadn't, she would have. They hadn't made any wedding plans, except to agree the ceremony would take place on the west coast. Reid's mother was in Las Vegas. Ana's family was in Needles, California. Reid considered the team his family, too, but his mother was phobic about flying. It would be easiest for Rossi, J.J., Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia to fly west when the time came. As yet, that time had not been specified. They were in no rush to change their current arrangement.

Ana had moved to Quantico shortly after becoming Reid's fiancé. They shared his apartment. When Ana had asked if he felt too cramped, if maybe she should find her own place or they should find something larger for the both of them, Reid had closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against hers, and let her 'see' how he really felt about it. What she saw was a man who had craved female intrusion for a very long time. He liked cramped. He liked turning corners and running into her. He enjoyed having no room for his razor because the entire bathroom shelf was taken up with perfumes and cosmetics and other feminine luxuries. He wasn't ready to let go of the novelty of having his territory so delightfully overrun. Ana had laughed and, in turn, let Reid 'see' that his outlook was the biggest compliment she'd ever been paid.

So, for the time being, they were crowded and close and blissfully happy. And in no hurry to change things.

"Spencer." She pulled him through the entryway and closed the door.

"Ana." He sighed, shed the majority of the day's worries, and relaxed into her hug. As both their paranormal abilities stretched and grew, they had found that silent, physical contact let them share recent experiences and emotions more completely than verbal exchanges. In short, a hug was worth several thousand words.

After a few minutes, Ana pulled away, raising her eyes to meet Reid's. "Hotch isn't going to get over it on his own, is he." It was statement, not question.

Reid gave his head a sad shake. "I don't even really know what 'it' is."

After a moment searching each other's faces, Ana nodded. "I guess we need some out-loud-talk-time then, right?" Reid's lopsided smile was answer enough.

They had found that although communication using their mutual talents was deep and meaningful, it could also veer off track, becoming disjointed and fanciful. Both had agile minds that operated on multiple levels with thoughts streaking off on tangents at lightning speed. When they wanted to discuss one topic from start to finish with minimal interruptions, it was best to revert to audible speech.

Despite the somber subject matter, Reid's face lit up when he saw the discussion would take place over Chinese takeout. Ana had known when he'd arrive. The coffee table in the area designated as a living room held a fragrantly spicy array of cartons.

"You wanna try to get the hang of chopsticks again, or…?" Ana's question held no judgment, just acknowledgment of her fiancé's curious lack of dexterity when it came to eating utensils. It amazed her that he could perform all manner of magic tricks that required sleight of hand, but the manipulation of two slender, tapered sticks eluded him.

"Fork, please." Reid removed his jacket and sat cross-legged on the floor. He began opening cartons to see if Ana had remembered to order his favorite. She had. And right on cue, her voice came from the kitchen, letting him know she was still in touch with his thoughts.

"And don't pick out the cashews, Spencer….or I'll hide _all_ the forks. You'll starve."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi watched Hotch gather himself together for the short drive home. He picked up his briefcase and coat, patting himself down to verify the presence of badge, gun and keys. Even in these simple movements, there was something distracted, absentminded about the man.

"You gonna be alright getting home, Aaron?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah. Sure."

Rossi's brows drew a little closer together. "Did you call Jessica? Let her know you're coming by for Jack?...Hotch!"

"What?...Oh, yeah, yeah. I, uh,…I thought it might be good for her to keep Jack tonight. I'll go get him tomorrow."

At that announcement, Rossi's brows did a complete reversal, shooting skyward and remaining there. Hotch _never_ missed a chance to spend time with his son. No matter how tired he was or how gruesome a case had been, he resumed the role of father immediately. Jack's presence was like a curative balm, soothing away whatever the world or his job threw at the Unit Chief.

"You're not picking up Jack?"

Hotch finally turned to look at his old friend. "Dave, I'm tired. I just want to go home and…"

"And what? Pass out for twenty minutes and then wake up sweating and suffocating? And then do it over and over again for the rest of the night?"

"I…I don't know. Just…I'm going now."

Hotch tried to walk past the older agent. He didn't make it. Rossi grabbed his arm, pulling him back a few steps. There wasn't much resistance, but lowered eyes and a hanging head let Rossi know Hotch didn't intend to engage in anything confrontational. _Too bad, buddy. We're not done for the night._

"Look at me Aaron." After a pause… "C'mon. I need to see your eyes." A hand under Hotch's chin forced him to comply. Rossi studied the bloodshot, slightly glassy gaze.

"You're not picking up Jack because you know you shouldn't be driving." Hotch jerked his chin out of the gentle grip, but didn't deny the observation.

"Well, if you're not fit to drive your son, I'm not letting you get behind the wheel at all." Rossi became brisk, business-like. He placed a hand between his friend's shoulder blades and propelled him out the door, along the catwalk and toward the bank of elevators connecting to the subterranean garage.

It wasn't until they were descending to the parking level and Rossi's waiting BMW that Hotch managed to focus enough to object. He shrugged off the companionable, yet controlling, arm now draped across his shoulders.

"I'm fine, Dave. Just a little tired. Perfectly capable of driving myself home." The elevator doors opened. Hotch stepped out. Without giving Rossi another glance, he took several purposeful strides…and stopped. His head lifted as though he were scenting the air. Rossi watched until he was sure of the situation. Then he gave his own head a rueful shake.

"Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. You don't know where you're parked." Hotch didn't answer, but neither did he resume walking. Rossi gave him a moment before delivering the final blow. "What's really sad about that, my friend, is that you have an _assigned_ space. It hasn't changed for four years."

Rossi came from behind until he could see the bewildered look his boss didn't even try to hide. He slipped a firm arm around Hotch's waist and pulled him around, pointing across the pavement where several vehicles waited for late-working FBI employees.

"There. See?" Hotch looked relieved to see his black sedan, but when he made a move toward it, Rossi's arm tightened around him. "No, Aaron. This is a nice, safe garage. Your car will be fine for another night. I'm taking you home."

"But…"

"No arguing."

"But…"

"No. I think it's time for us to have a long overdue talk."

Rossi loaded Hotch into the BMW's passenger seat, noting that the man stumbled a few times. He didn't think he'd have any trouble making the Unit Chief behave. Nevertheless, he was glad for the childproof feature that let him control the lock on Hotch's door.

_No escape for you tonight, Aaron._


	3. Sleepless in Quantico

"So Hotch can't tell you what's wrong? Not even a hint?" Despite reverting to verbal communication, Ana still felt small waves of aggravation and frustration wafting off of Spencer. Using her chopsticks with casual ease, she picked up a single grain of stray rice. She watched Reid track the deft maneuver, and felt him emit a wistful, little current of envy.

"Nothing. And I can't go into him, _read_ him, without knowing if it'd do more harm than good. For all I know, I'm the one responsible for his nightmares in the first place." Reid twirled some noodles around his fork, musing that he was much better applying Italian methods of consumption when it came to Chinese food.

"What'll happen to him if he just goes on the way he is?…I mean, aside from scaring the rest of you guys whenever he tries to take a nap."

Reid leaned back and considered, accessing his tremendous store of knowledge. "Well, the sleep deprivation aspect will render him increasingly unfocused. As it progresses he'll become overly emotional…and that'll be harder on him than most. Hotch keeps himself under tight control when it comes to his feelings. I've seen him lose his temper and I've seen him overwhelmed by grief. Both were…_intense. _He'll get clumsier as time goes on. That'll decrease his ability to function in the field. His appetite will increase as his body tries to revive itself with calories instead of rest."

Ana nodded. "That could be a good thing. He needs to eat more anyway. At least by the looks of him…Not that I don't appreciate slender men," she hastened to add, noting her lover's lack of girth. She put down her chopsticks and leaned back, mirroring Reid's posture. "That's not all, is it? Even from here, I can tell you haven't said the worst of it yet."

Reid sighed. "Extended sleep deprivation can result in permanent cognitive issues." Ana raised an eyebrow, inviting a more detailed explanation. "Brain deterioration. That's what it amounts to. There are physical risks, too." He ran his hands over his face, cataloguing the horrors that awaited one of his best friends. "Studies have found that people who get less than six hours of sleep a night for long periods of time, have increased occurrences of heart disease…and stroke…and cancer…and, well, death."

"Oh, God, Spencer. Hotch could _die_ from this?"

"Yeah."

It was one very small word that carried a world of harm and horror.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Jeez. Give me your keys, Aaron. Just…let me do it."

Rossi couldn't watch his friend fumble with the lock any longer. It wasn't just fatigue. The man was getting downright clumsy. He'd stumbled and tripped his way out of the car and across the small lawn of his townhouse complex. Increasingly concerned, Rossi finally took his arm, relieved him of his go-bag and brought him to the front door. Now this man who was normally agile…graceful, even…couldn't seem to demonstrate enough coordination to unlock his home. Rossi pushed Hotch to one side, still bracing him with the arm holding Hotch's bag behind his back. He inserted and turned the key with minimal effort, but hesitated before going any further.

"Is your alarm code the same as at your last place?"

"Uh…yeah." Hotch rallied the tiniest bit. "Dave, just open the door. I can disarm the system."

Rossi nodded. If he let his doubts about his friend's physical capabilities run amok, he might go too far. _Next thing you know, I'll be brushing his teeth for him._ He pushed the door open, ushering Hotch in. While he busied himself with closing and securing the front entry, he heard Hotch trip once on his way to confront the beeping keypad.

Rossi set the go-bag down. Placing both hands in the small of his back, he groaned and stretched out the kinks acquired over the last few days spent apprehending a tri-state child molester. Just as he turned to see how Hotch was doing, his ears were split by the raucous screech of the alarm.

"Holy….!" Rossi leapt for the control panel where Hotch stood, staring at flashing lights. His expression of surprised confusion would have been comical if Rossi had taken the time to observe it. But the grace period for this system was twenty seconds. After that, they could count on a late-night conversation with the local authorities. As it was, the neighbors would be giving the Hotchner household unfriendly glares in the morning. Rossi pushed Hotch aside and punched in the code he remembered from his friend's last home. He breathed a relieved prayer of thanks when it worked.

Ears still ringing in the sudden silence, he turned around, ready to deliver a few choice words about this latest lapse. But when he saw Hotch sitting on the floor, looking up at him with wide, dazed eyes from where Rossi's push had sent him, all thoughts of reprimand vanished. He walked over and reached out to his stunned comrade.

"Gimme your hand. C'mon. Up we go." A substrata of Rossi's mind noted that Hotch's grip wasn't as strong, nor his body weight as much as he'd expected. After heaving him to his feet, Rossi gave him a much more gentle push toward the stairs leading to the bedrooms and main bathroom.

"Go. Get changed. Splash some water on your face. Then come back down. We need to talk." He watched the man drag himself up step by step, using the railing for support. "And don't pass out on the bathroom floor or something. If you're not back in ten minutes, I'm coming after you, Aaron. You hear me?"

"Yeah."

It was one very small word that carried a world of weariness and despair.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana managed to combine nine cartons of leftovers into three. She stashed them in the fridge as she listened to Reid taking a shower.

Her heart went out to Hotch. Since she wasn't a member of his team, he sometimes relaxed around her more than the others. She'd found him to be shyly humorous, kind and supportive. He could even be flirty on occasion, but never in a way that threatened her relationship with Reid. Hotch was loyal, honest and a gentleman.

But she'd always sensed a fragility, too.

When Spencer had told her some of the ordeals that had formed Hotch, she understood that breakable quality a little better. She also felt a kinship with him. They had both lost loved ones to murder. Hotch had lost his ex-wife Haley. Ana had lost her little sister, Sarah. A couple of times, when the team and their significant others had gathered for a dinner or a night out, her empathic abilities had tuned in on Hotch's sadness and loneliness. Once, she had slipped her hand into his and whispered "I understand." It hadn't eased his sorrow, but the look he gave her and the gentle pressure he applied to her fingers told her he was grateful for any kind of companionship. Even one grounded in tragedy.

Ana bit her lip and let one tear escape. Sometimes Hotch just broke her heart. And Reid loved him even more. _We have to help him._

_I know._

She'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't been aware of the shower cutting off. Now she turned to see a damp and tousled Reid still toweling off his tangled hair.

_But we have to be careful, Spencer._

_Yes. And maybe it's not a matter of 'we.'_

_You mean…_since they had no name for him, Ana projected her mental image of the elderly doctor they'd met when Hotch had almost died.

_Yes. It'll be hard, though._

_How do you mean?_

Image of the doctor_ …warned me about getting too close to Hotch, you know, the way __**we**__ get close…mentally. So no matter how much we may want to…no matter how much Hotch might ask us to…_

_Hands off?_

_Yeah. We can't bring Hotch back there and expect help if we're knowingly the ones doing the damage. I don't think our reception would be very, uh,…cordial._

_You're right. Spencer, what do you really think… _image of the doctor_ …is anyway?_

They'd asked each other the same question countless times over the last year. Draping his wet towel around her shoulders, Reid pulled Ana into his arms. He looked into the eyes that reminded him of Arctic skies. _I think he's power…and mystery…and…_

_Our only hope?_

'_Fraid so._

_Poor Hotch._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What am I gonna do with you, Aaron?" Rossi didn't really expect an answer.

It had taken twenty minutes for Hotch to splash water on his face, fumble his way out of his suit and into sweat pants and t-shirt. Rossi noted that the t-shirt was inside-out. The label stuck up at the back of Hotch's neck. It looked like a fabric echo of the cowlicks that seemed to be taking over the whole head of thick, dark hair.

"Don't yell at me, Dave. If I knew what to do, I'd…" The tired voice faded without finishing.

Rossi had installed his friend on the living room sofa. After a moment's observation, he took his own seat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of Hotch. He pulled it closer. They were sitting knee to knee and there was very little the younger man could do to avoid what Rossi considered a necessary conversation.

"I'm trying to help you, Aaron."

Silence.

"Are you sure you can't tell me what these dreams are about?"

A head shake. Negative.

"Could it be something else that's bothering you? Besides the dreams?"

"Dunno."

Rossi studied the thin face made gaunter by fatigue. "Is it possible you're sick? Something physical that's affecting your sleep?" No response. He leaned in even closer. "Focus, please." Frustration gave his voice a sharp tone, catching Hotch's attention…at least for a moment.

"I don't think I'm sick, Dave. I'm sorry. I just don't…" Another fade-out.

With tender care, Rossi laid a hand across Hotch's forehead. After a pause, one at a time, he rested the back of his hand alongside each cheek. He drew back and sighed.

"You don't feel like you have a temperature." He reached forward again and brought Hotch's chin up, rendering eye contact unavoidable. "Does anything hurt?"

The eyes were steady, but something was different. It lurked in the deep, brown depths. It made Rossi shudder without being able to lay a name to It.

"Does your head hurt? Throat? Any of your old injuries? Ribs? Knees? Anything?"

"I don't think so. No."

Rossi released Hotch's chin and watched him lower his gaze. _He keeps hiding. It's almost as if he's ashamed of being weak. Like he thinks he's supposed to be invulnerable…That's just not human._ Another shudder danced its way down Rossi's spine. Somehow, 'not human' made him think of the thing he'd glimpsed in Aaron's eyes. _Ridiculous._ He shook off the momentary feeling of strangeness.

"Aaron, we have to figure this out. I'll do everything I can for you, but we have to figure out what _sort_ of problem you've got."

As the word 'sort' passed Rossi's lips, Hotch looked up. The tiniest spark of hope tried to fight its way forward. Through the miasma of weariness and defeat, something struggled up in his mind where thoughts that used to be neatly shelved now resided in disheveled heaps.

_Sort. He said he'd sort me out. Maybe…maybe…?_

"Aaron, what is it?"

"I need to go somewhere, Dave."

"Anywhere. Just tell me. I'll take you."

"Reid, too. And Ana. Please? Okay?"

The note of pleading finally undid him. Rossi moved from the coffee table, taking a place beside Hotch. He pulled the tired shoulders clad in their pathetic, inside-out t-shirt against him. Holding on tight, he instinctively made small, rocking movements.

"Whatever you need. Wherever you need it. Whoever you need to do it. I'll get it for you, Aaron."

From anyone else, they might have been meaningless words of comfort. From David Rossi, they were a promise, a vow he'd keep with his own life, if necessary.


	4. Hopeful Journey

"We can't take the jet. It's not official business."

Saturday morning had come. Rossi had stayed the night at Hotch's and was spending as much time as he could in the man's company. If he couldn't guarantee his friend a good night's sleep, at least he could comfort him with an occasional touch or reassuring word. Increasingly, Rossi was thinking that Hotch's situation was approaching a critical point.

"So let's just grab a commercial flight. Let's do it the way we did last time and rent a car again. But for God's sake, let's GO!" Reid was alarmed at the rapid deterioration he was seeing. They'd only been back for one night, yet Hotch looked as though he'd been fighting inner demons for an additional year.

Still, Reid had to admit, when Rossi had surprised him by reaching the same conclusion he and Ana had… that they'd have to bring Hotch back to upstate New York…things began to fall into place with gratifying speed.

As Hotch had requested, Rossi, Reid and Ana would accompany him. Although Morgan bristled at being left behind and offered himself as a bodyguard for the group in general and the Unit Chief in particular, in the end he'd actually been relieved that he would be staying in Quantico to hold down the fort. The whole situation was a little too eerie for him. Garcia soothed him by assuring him she'd stay on top of communication and nothing would happen to Hotch without their knowledge. J.J. and Prentiss accepted being excluded a bit more easily. They knew that they could better serve the cause by laying down smoke screens to keep Strauss from asking too many questions. Truth be told, the Section Chief had kept herself in the background ever since the implementation of what the team referred to as "that phone thing" during their last sojourn into the wilderness.

"And you guys just let us know if you need any kind of, you know, _diversion_ like that again." Prentiss' wicked wink morphed into a worried look as she regarded Hotch. She hesitantly reached out and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. When his only reaction was to blink and keep his gaze fixed on the ground, she joined her voice to Reid's in pleading that they get moving NOW!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The best Garcia could do was to book four tickets from Quantico to Logan Airport in Boston. From there, they'd transfer to CapeAir which offered commuter flights three times a day into Adirondack Regional Airport. She reserved them a rental car for the drive to the small settlement north of Tupper Lake. When she pressed the itinerary and e-tickets into Rossi's hand, even the rhinestone encrusted frames of teal blue glasses didn't distract him from seeing the concern in her eyes.

"That…_place_…you're going to? It doesn't even have a name! There's no official town there, Rossi. How can that be? All I saw were notations about amenities available to travelers. Like food, lodging, gas, and…" Garcia glanced at Hotch, who was isolating himself, sitting with his back to the group and rubbing his temples as though trying to smooth something away. "…and a hospital. That's just too weird, guys."

"No argument from me. 'Weird' says it all." Morgan looked at each of the people who would be accompanying Hotch on this journey. "You guys take care of yourselves. I know this isn't like last time, but…"

"It's okay, Derek." Rossi slipped the tickets into his inside jacket pocket. "Just think of it as taking Hotch to see a specialist. And just be glad there's someone who might be able to help."

"_Might_." Morgan sighed. "That's the part that worries me. What if that old guy can't do anything?"

Hotch mumbled something. The unexpected signs of awareness and participation caught the entire group's attention. J.J. bent lower, the better to see his face.

"What was that? Hotch?"

A deep inhalation made it sound as though he were gathering all his strength to respond.

"Worry is the misuse of imagination."

J.J. straightened. Quizzical glances were exchanged among the others.

"Great." Morgan rolled his eyes. "Now he's sounding like Yoda."

"Can we PLEASE get going?" With a plan of action in place and plane tickets in hand, Reid didn't see the point in lingering, even if sharing a few comforting words with those who'd remain behind was a nice thing to do. Long goodbyes were not his forte.

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Call when you get there and keep us in the loop." He watched Rossi pull Hotch to his feet, keeping a grip on his arm, steering him as though he were afraid the man would crumple if unsupported, run into a wall if unguided.

_But if it's all the same to you, Hotch, I'll keep right on misusing my imagination. At least for now_.

From where he was being hustled into the elevator, Hotch looked back. Something in his glance made Morgan shiver.

_Weird. Definitely._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

During the journey, Reid was aware of Hotch's thoughts trying to make contact.

Over the last year he and Ana had practiced blocking each other out. Not so much because they wanted to get away from each other, but because it was a handy skill to have. The cacophony of images and emotions that bombarded the sensitive receptors in their brains, which seemed to be connected to their ESP abilities, could be overwhelming.

Ana was more adept than Reid. She'd been an empath all her life. The blocking mechanism was tantamount to a basic survival skill that almost grew on its own, following a parallel course as her empathy developed. She still had a difficult time around large groups of injured or ill people, but with a partner to help her practice, she was getting better at enduring that, too.

Reid, on the other hand, had to work at it. She coached him with mental imaging and made up exercises that took on the aspect of games. But although he was improving, he had a regrettable tendency to look so mournful and dejected when she'd announce she was going to block him out, that she couldn't bear to keep up the effort for very long. If she did keep rebuffing him, she felt as though she was kicking a puppy. And her desire to hug the puppy, and cuddle it, and reassure it that it would never be alone or unloved again eroded her resolve. Too many practice sessions ended with Ana apologizing and showering Spencer with affection, which would lead to other things, but never back to practicing blocking each other out. Quite the opposite.

On the flight from Boston, it was different. Ana could join her talent to Reid's and shore him up, keeping him strong when he could feel Hotch's need, but knew he shouldn't assuage it. The regret they both felt for turning a blind, blank wall toward their friend was a trifle easier to endure when they could share it with each other. But Hotch's efforts were persistent.

_Spencer, has he always been this, I don't know what to call it…__**available**__? Or are we just noticing it more?_

_Honestly, I think on some level Hotch has been crying out for help all his life. There's just never been anyone to hear it before._

_Oh, God._

Ana sniffed back a tear. Leaning her head on Reid's shoulder, she closed her eyes. He bent his neck and rested his cheek on her hair.

_I know, Ana. Sometimes he breaks my heart, too…Hang on. Just... hang... on._

Reid wasn't sure if he meant that last for Ana as much as he did for Hotch.

For Rossi's part, he stayed close to Hotch and found himself praying more than usual for comfort and help and, most of all, hope. He sat beside their leader and watched him lean his head back, eyes tightly closed. More than one flight attendant asked if the dark haired man was alright, or if they could get him an aspirin or a drink of water. Rossi appreciated the kindness even as he declined each offer.

He just wished the solution to Hotch's problem could be as simple as aspirin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two flights and a mini-road trip later, night was falling by the time they drove into the little settlement at the edge of the woods.

Rossi slowed the rental car. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed. Millie's B&B was still one of the most uselessly ornate Victorian houses he'd ever seen. It still had its small sign out front. And the largest building on the one street running through town was still the hospital.

As the sky darkened, Rossi pulled up to the medical facility and parked.

"Ana, you don't have to come inside, if it's too hard for you. Reid and I can go with Hotch."

"No. I want to. I'll be okay."

Hotch had been silent for most of the trip. Now he raised his head, looked at the well-lit entrance through tired eyes, and sighed.

His voice was strained and weary. It cracked as he spoke. "Thank you. All of you."

It was the last thing they would hear him say for quite some time.


	5. Enemy Defined

The receptionist looked up as four people entered the hospital lobby. Three seemed fine, but one looked as though he'd fall over if it weren't for the man supporting him, one arm cinched around his waist and a hand spread across his chest.

"Oh, no." She picked up her phone and punched the top entry on her speed dial list. After a few rapid words, she hung up. Sprinting around the front desk, she called over her shoulder to someone further back in the depths of the facility.

"Gurney! Stat!"

With reassuring speed, a large, well-muscled orderly appeared, gurney in tow. He flipped its brakes on and approached the newcomers, arms extended to receive the one who was obviously in need of care.

Hotch didn't resist being manhandled. Didn't protest that he could manage on his own. That alone told his companions volumes about how he was feeling. Before the orderly could do more than pull the man's weight against himself, the front doors opened again, admitting a breath of cool, night air and an elderly gentleman.

The sense of relief accompanying him pervaded the entire lobby, touching each member of the tense scene.

_It's him!_ Reid 'heard' Ana's excited exclamation. It was followed by a deep, calm, almost humorous voice.

_Quiet, children. Control yourselves, please._ Reid thought it was what the ocean would sound like, if it could give voice to its age, its depths, and all the life and mystery contained therein.

The old doctor walked to where his orderly was supporting Hotch, preparatory to lifting him onto the gurney. With gentle hands at each side of this new patient's face, he raised the tired head and looked into the troubled eyes. Hotch gave a single sob and leaned toward the comforting presence.

"Shhhhh. Shhhhh." The doctor held the agent's gaze. "Get him off his feet." Instantly, the orderly picked Hotch up, set him on the gurney and pressed his shoulders back, forcing him to lie still.

As soon as he was down, the old doctor laid a hand across Hotch's forehead. The Unit Chief's weary eyes widened, then closed. With a deep sigh, his sleep-deprived body relaxed. The doctor scanned his patient's length and murmured soft words the others couldn't quite hear. Lifting his hand from Hotch's head, he nodded to the orderly. The gurney was wheeled away, removing its burden from view.

"You should have brought him sooner." Although the words were now of the normal, audible variety, they still carried a quality of power.

Rossi took his customary role as spokesperson when it came to Hotch's welfare. "How could we? We didn't know what he needed until yesterday when he said he wanted to come back here." Looking after the gurney, he spoke his chief worry. "And we _still_ don't know what's wrong with him."

The doctor stepped back, peering over the tops of his half-moon glasses, the better to survey this trio of travelers. After each had endured what felt like a thorough examination, albeit only a visual one, he shook his head, speaking more to himself than anyone else. "You are some of the most time-challenged people I've ever met. Maybe that's why you've found each other. After all, like gravitates toward like."

"Excuse me?" Rossi was too concerned about Hotch to have much patience with what sounded like some sort of metaphysical observation.

"Your timing's all off." The old doctor nodded at Reid. "_That_ one is coming into his gifts late. And _you_…" he returned his regard to Rossi, "…_you_ and that poor, troubled soul in there…" he tilted his head in the direction Hotch had been taken. "…you almost completely missed each other this time around, didn't you?"

The orderly who'd taken Hotch poked his head around the corner. "Doc! He's _fighting _it!" The words were delivered in tones of astonished disbelief.

The old man glanced at Reid and Ana. "You two wait here. You…" His eyes traveled to Rossi. "…come with me." The doctor followed after his orderly. Rossi didn't feel he had much choice in the matter. Although he still had no idea what was meant by "time-challenged," or what he and Hotch had 'missed,' he was more concerned with making sure Hotch was being cared for.

Giving Reid and Ana a perplexed shrug, he went after the man he hoped would be able to cure his best friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi entered the room where they had installed Hotch.

An all too familiar sight greeted him. The head rocking from side to side; the lips moving, but not forming words; low moans interspersed with an occasional whimper. It was the point where Rossi usually woke the man, hoping to interrupt whatever nightmare vision pursued him.

He half-expected the doctor to do the same.

But the old man stood over Hotch, frowning, tilting his head to one side as though listening to something. After a moment of study, he once again placed his hand on Hotch's forehead. It took a few seconds, but the signs of distress eased. When peaceful rest was restored, the doctor lifted his hand and waited. Rossi was consumed with questions, but something told him now wasn't the time…which made him think again of the doctor's statement about their little group being 'time-challenged.'

"I know. I'll explain. But right now, this boy needs me more than you need answers."

The chill Rossi felt at having his unvoiced issues addressed by a man whose back was to him…who couldn't even claim to have been tipped off by a curious expression on his face…shuddered its way from his shoulders to his stomach. He swallowed and stifled the urge to cross himself. The doctor's low chuckle disturbed him even more.

"By all means, genuflect if it makes you feel better. But I assure you, you're not in danger from anything diabolic." Hotch began to stir again. "This boy, however, is another matter." He rested his hand on Hotch's forehead once more.

As he held it there, the doctor glanced at the orderly. "Shirt, please." Rossi watched Hotch's shirt being unbuttoned, exposing his chest. The doctor placed his free hand over Hotch's heart, but removed it almost immediately.

"Well, at least he's not _physically_ injured this time. Pity. Be easier to heal." Several more minutes passed before he took his hand off the forehead that was once again clear and untroubled. He smiled his thanks at the orderly and dismissed him. Pulling a chair close to the bedside, he took a seat and gestured for Rossi to do the same.

"Normally, I'd send you off to Millie's B&B, but I have a feeling you won't sleep until at least a few of those questions flaring through your mind have answers. I leave it to you to choose which you'd have me satisfy first."

"You can read my mind, can't you. Like Reid?"

"Not quite like your young friend. No two of us are exactly alike." The old man's smile grew wider. "Kind of like snowflakes…Alike…but not."

Rossi looked discomfited. _If __**that's**__ the kind of answer I can expect, I won't be learning much…_

_Then phrase your questions with care. Or would you rather I deal with them more directly? Like this?_

Rossi blanched. The voice had definitely been inside his head. The experience made him feel a little nauseous.

"I'm sorry." The doctor's smile waned. "I assumed, keeping the company you do…the empath and the telepath…that you'd been spoken to mentally before." His expression was compassionate, but sad. "I won't do that to you again." Rossi still looked uncomfortable. He would have liked to leave, but he needed answers and he wanted to stay close to Hotch.

"What's wrong with my friend? Can you help him?"

The doctor rubbed his jaw and sighed. "This will be hard for you to understand without my giving you a mental vision of it, but I'll try." Hotch gave a soft moan. The old man reached over and stroked the agent's forehead. As Hotch subsided once again, he resumed speaking.

"Right now, there are phantasms, vestiges of images and experiences born of the work you people do, moving through your friend's mind. They're accumulating and they're _not_ his. Not originally, anyway."

Rossi's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'not his'? Whose are they then?"

The doctor's hand kept contact with Hotch's forehead, his thumb rubbing small, soothing, arcs across the pale skin. The Unit Chief's breathing deepened, finally entering a healing level of sleep.

"I suspect the images came from your young friend in the lobby."

"Reid?"

"If that's what you call him…yes."

Rossi was silent for a few heartbeats. He glanced in the direction of the lobby, aware that the doctor was watching him, giving him time to absorb the strangeness of the information he'd been given.

"I…I don't even know what to ask next…I…"

"It's alright, son. I _do_ understand." He waited a little longer, hand still stroking Hotch's forehead. "If you're ready, I'd like to ask a question of my own, although I suspect I already know the answer."

Rossi nodded. "Sure. What is it?"

"Does…Reid, is it?...Does he happen to have an eidetic memory?"

"Ye-e-e-s. Why?" Rossi felt his stomach knot at the look of unease his reply brought to the doctor's face.

"I was afraid of that. His memories are far too vivid for _this_ man…Aaron, wasn't it?...Yes, Aaron. I remember. Sweet spirit." The doctor turned his contemplative regard toward his patient, letting his fingers pause and linger for a moment. "Yes. I need to talk to the younger one, but I'm sure he's the source." His voice grew lower. "It'd be a shame to lose this one. A genuinely good soul. Ah, well."

Rossi didn't like the sound of it. It was too _accepting. _It smacked of a fatefulness he didn't want applied to Hotch's situation. _And I still don't really get it!_

The doctor looked up, giving Rossi the feeling he'd heard the frustrated thought. "I know it's difficult. Do you agree that the horrors you deal with in your line of work affect you? Stay with you?"

Rossi nodded. "Yes, but in time they fade. Sure, they're replaced by new ones, but you learn to compartmentalize and keep them from taking over your life."

"But your young Reid's eidetic memory _doesn't_ fade. They're as fresh and powerful as the moment they were formed. Somehow, he's transferring them to Aaron, here. And Aaron's mind isn't designed to deal with them." He resumed running his fingers over Hotch's brow. "Right now, they're just bits and pieces, whirling about like flotsam spinning in an eddying current. But when there are enough of them, they'll…coalesce. They'll become something of an entity in and of themselves."

Rossi felt his throat tighten. He remembered the unsettling notion that something odd had been lurking in the depths of Hotch's eyes. Watching. Waiting. Hating. Ungifted non-psychic that he was, he could still feel something truly dreadful about to raise its head.

"And once they've done that…gathered and solidified…well, Aaron won't be here anymore. He'll have been pushed out of his own psyche, his own mind." The doctor's voice grew soft, almost fond. "Yes. A shame to lose this one… such a sweet, gentle spirit…it wants only to do good…truly a shame…"


	6. The Art of Remembrance

Rossi let the horror of what he was hearing flow through him.

He struggled to use some of that ability to compartmentalize he'd just been describing. He needed to know more. He needed to know the worst. Although he couldn't imagine much worse than losing the spirit and personality that was Hotch to some amorphous conglomeration of memories-made-sentient. Memories spawned by the evil they encountered daily in their work and kept vibrantly alive thanks to Reid's eidetic ability. And somehow transferred from Reid's mind, a mind that was designed to handle its own creations…to Hotch's, a mind never meant for images that refused to fade.

The elderly physician was watching him, compassion evident in every worn line of his face. Rossi fastened on that, using it to calm himself, using it to help him move to the next question…the most important one of all.

"Can you help him?"

"If any help is to be had, it'll have to come from the one who created this…thing…birthing its way into your friend's mind."

"Reid." Rossi swallowed hard. "What does Reid need to do?"

Hotch stirred. The doctor stopped moving his hand over the man's forehead, letting it rest solidly against it for a moment. Hotch subsided again. The old man turned his regard back to Rossi.

"I'm guessing you know everything substantive there is to know about _this_ boy." He held Rossi with a steady, grave gaze. "What do you know about the other?"

"Enough to know I trust him with my life."

"He has secrets."

"We all do."

The doctor inclined his head toward Hotch. "I don't think there are many between you two."

"Our relationship is older and, well,…different." Rossi felt a lump form in his throat as he prepared to explain his feelings for Hotch. Before he could, the doctor spoke again.

"Because you see him as your son."

Rossi nodded, but couldn't respond. He felt too much. Love welled up in his heart. And tears welled in his eyes as he thought of how hard Hotch must have been struggling against this…thing…in his mind. Unable to express what he was enduring. Unable to ask for help. Losing a battle he should never have had to fight.

Alone.

The doctor closed his eyes for a moment. Rossi felt a wave of comfort wash over him. It wasn't intrusive the way the telepathic communication had been. It was just…warm…and nice.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The doctor opened his eyes. "You're welcome." He gave Rossi a moment longer to regain his own mental and emotional footing. "I suppose this is a good time to explain what I meant by referring to you as 'time-challenged.'" His smile was rueful rather than humorous. "You and Aaron have known each other before. I'm sure of it. If it's any comfort, he _was_ your son. And I have no doubt he will be your son again. You just missed each other this time, that's all."

Rossi looked away and expelled a deep breath. "Reincarnation?" He shook his head. "I don't believe in that."

"Doesn't matter. Belief doesn't change what is. Or has been. Or will be again." The doctor peered over the tops of his glasses at Hotch. "But if you lose him this time, it might help to know you'll find him again. Next time."

Rossi swallowed the lump that threatened to produce tears. "How long has Aaron been fighting this…thing…? When did it get into him?"

"That's a question for the young one. That's part of what he holds close…of what he keeps secret."

Silence. They listened to Hotch's slow, steady breathing. Rossi stood and leaned over his friend's unconscious body. He placed his hand where the doctor's had been earlier…over Hotch's heart, feeling a steady beat that gave him a measure of reassurance.

"I'm not hearing much that gives me hope, Doc. Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm doing it now." He nodded toward the hand smoothing Hotch's brow. "I'm letting his body rest. I can slow the growth of the thing within him. For now, at least. But once it gains ascendency, he won't last long. It'll wear his body out and disperse when the body dies."

"So what do we do now?"

"Allow me a few minutes. I'll push the memory fragments back as much as I can. It should give me enough time to talk to…Reid?..." The doctor glanced at Rossi for confirmation of the name. "…and then we'll know better if we can help your…son."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana was proud of Spencer.

When the strange, old man explained Hotch's problem to them, she had felt the guilt begin to rise in her fiancé. But so had the doctor. She saw him lift his head and hold Reid's eyes with his own. She couldn't 'hear' what was said, but the feelings of guilt ebbed. She was proud because Spencer had been working at handling the negative fallout of blaming himself, learning to release it, for the past year. She'd managed to lead him to the conclusion that it was a useless emotion that crippled its owner and benefited no one. Especially in someone like Reid who gave himself over to guilt at the slightest provocation.

After witnessing the doctor's private 'talk' with Spencer, she marveled at the power and skill that let this old gentleman direct his mental communication at either or both of them. He could selectively target those he wished to affect. She sensed such finesse took a long time…ages…to master. Ana felt that when she and Spencer 'talked,' they could be overheard by anyone with telepathic abilities. Their conversations were private only because there was virtually no one who _could_ 'hear' them. Compared to the doctor, she and Spencer were shouting in public as opposed to speaking confidentially, with subtlety and direction.

Still, most of the conversation was conducted verbally, in deference to Rossi. But, for Ana and Reid, the words had been augmented with mental visuals. _Like teaching aids, _she thought.

_Exactly. _ The doctor smiled at her. He was the only one who could manage any type of smile. Concern for Hotch overrode all expressions of levity. The others felt only dread and a quiet horror. They had all been so hopeful of the doctor enacting a quick and certain cure, they were unprepared for the reality of the diagnosis he presented to them.

Once he was sure they understood the gravity of the situation, he began to question Reid.

"Your talents came late to you." Reid nodded. "When did they begin?"

"I, uh…I abused some drugs. That's what I think made them kick in." He sounded uncomfortable admitting such a shameful lapse in judgment. Especially in front of this man.

The doctor considered Reid's statement, pinning him with a sharp look. "Think again. The use of drugs may have blurred your power of recall. Even an eidetic memory can be chemically altered. But one does _not_ forget one's first instance of ESP. Think again, young man."

Reid didn't answer so quickly the second time. He lowered his gaze and thought back. And he remembered bright light and pain and…and… _the headaches_! When he looked up and locked eyes with the doctor, it was clear that he'd experienced something of a revelation.

"Florida! We were in Florida on a case involving ritualistic murders. Rossi, you remember?"

"I know you were acting a little strange, but, kid, the circumstances made us all a little skittish." Rossi shook his head as he recalled the amalgam of Catholicism and Afro-Caribbean religions that had permeated the investigation.

"No, Rossi, it was more than that. I never told anyone, because the headaches scared me. I tried to hide everything I was going through" Reid's eyes were wide as his perfect memory painted the scene before him, rich with detail. "I saw things then…things that were part of the case, but I didn't know it at the time. And…and afterwards I wanted to hide that it happened. Ignore it." He turned tragic eyes toward Ana. "I thought I might be turning…schizophrenic. Like my mother. So I ran. Even from myself."

"Oh, Spencer. I'm sorry." Ana drew closer, letting her empathy connect with Reid's fear and shame. _Even now, those memories…so strong. You never have to go through anything like that alone again. I'm here now._

_I know. I love you ._

A deeper, more vibrant voice intruded. _Empath, you feel how vivid his memories and the emotion they generate are. This is the problem. This is what's tearing your friend apart. And…for now, children…out loud, please. It is rude to exclude…_image of Rossi.

"Sorry." Ana ducked her head in apology at Rossi, who was scanning all three faces before him, aware of the fact that he was being left out of their conversation.

"So." The doctor addressed Reid again. "You were in pain. But the pain stopped."

Reid nodded. "Yeah. It was a while after we got back from that case, but, yes…the headaches stopped."

As Reid had recalled his experiences, Ana had felt them. The doctor had kept his distance from the emotion they generated, but he'd observed every nuance, every detail. Yet something puzzled him. The memories were lacking something vital. _Despite the power they retain, they're dimmed. Especially for the recollections of one possessing an eidetic memory._ He moved closer to Reid.

"With your permission?" Reid wasn't sure what he was being asked, but there was no way he would ever refuse a request from this man. The aura of strength and age surrounding him commanded respect and trust. So Reid stood still and let the doctor rest a palm against his cheek.

"Hmmmmmm." It was the uninformative sound made by doctors the world over. Rossi imagined there was a mandatory class in medical schools devoted to the art of the Physician's Hum. After several minutes, the doctor released Reid and stepped back, looking thoughtful.

"You still have all your memories, but those from this case you speak of in Florida are…robbed…of their intensity. I see the memories before that time are intact. The ones following, are all missing some of their intrinsic force…their _soul_, you might call it."

"And that's what's being transferred to Hotch?" Rossi didn't see how such a thing could be possible, but he couldn't refute the evidence of Aaron's deterioration.

"Yes." The doctor removed his glasses and polished them on the hem of his jacket. "I suspect the missing element of the young one's memories was responsible for his headaches as well. By siphoning it off into someone else, he was relieved of the pain. Unfortunately, the recipient doesn't have the option of passing that destructive force on. He's stuck with it."

Ana could feel Reid's guilt beginning to build again. This time the doctor responded to it audibly.

"Do you know _how_ you accomplished this transference to your friend?"

"No." Reid's voice was small, aching with regret.

"Then you have no basis for accepting blame." A note of severity crept into the authoritative tone. "Intent defines guilt. Maybe not in our judicial system, but in the more important world of our souls and how we deal with each other…if no harm was meant, you are innocent of blame. Don't cloud your rationality with something so useless. Especially now, when your friend needs you."

With a long, slow breath, Reid abandoned the inclination to punish himself, accepting instead the responsibility to take action on Hotch's behalf.

The doctor smiled at him. _Wise choice, child. You're learning. Never stop. Never let anything as unproductive as undeserved guilt insinuate itself between you and the attainment of knowledge, the achievement of a goal…or the rescue of your friend._

"Okay." Reid stood straighter, readying himself. "So what do I do?"

The doctor replaced his glasses, perching them halfway down his nose. He looked pleased. "The change in your memories occurred in Florida."

Reid looked from Rossi to Ana to the hallway. Somewhere along its length was a room where Hotch was locked in a battle he never asked for, with something he never imagined. _No, he couldn't imagine it. __**I **__imagined it for him…_

"I guess I'm going to Miami, guys."


	7. If Tomorrow Comes

Reid would be going to Miami alone.

Ana had offered to accompany him, but he'd turned her down.

"I want you with me. You know that. You can read it in me. But, Ana, I need to feel part of me is here with Hotch, too. You have to _be_ that part of me. Please."

"Okay. But be careful. I'll worry…"

Reid had pulled her close and given her the saddest smile she'd ever seen. _Worry is the misuse of imagination. Remember? That's what Hotch said before we came here. And I think he's right._

_We can't lose him, Spencer._

_If there's any answer, any way to stop what's happening to him…I'll find it._

_Call me if you change your mind…or need anything…or, oh, hell…just __**call**__ me._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A call to Garcia brought the rest of the team up to date on Hotch's condition and uncertain prospects. Reid asked her to have a round trip, open-ended ticket waiting for him at the counter in the Adirondack Regional Airport.

"And, Garcia? I need a favor. Can one of you guys get into my place and get something for me? And can you have it overnighted to Miami? I'll pick it up when I land there."

"Sure, but what is it?"

When he told her, Garcia was puzzled, but didn't ask questions. The anxiety in Reid's voice and the earnestness of his request diverted any impulse she had to tease or question him. Hotch's life was at stake. Anything Reid needed, she'd move heaven and earth to provide.

"One more thing, Garcia. Can you check on the current address for Julio Ruiz?"

"Julio Ru…You mean that Palo Mayombe guy? The one who you questioned as a suspect?"

"That's the one. And he was innocent. And I need to talk to him. Can you just let me know if he still works at that soup kitchen and if he still lives above it?"

"Uh, yeah! Sure. I'll send the info to your phone."

"Thanks, Garcia."

"Reid? Are you sure you don't want Morgan to go with you? It might help…"

_It might. I'm gonna stand out like…well, like the only tall, skinny, white guy in the neighborhood. Great. It'll be like school all over again: if you don't fit in, you're a target for bullying…and worse._

"No. I have to do this on my own. And you know Morgan hates all that paranormal, supernatural stuff. Thanks, Garcia, but to do this right, I think I need to do it alone."

In the few beats of silence that followed, Reid could visualize the tech analyst's warm, brown eyes peering out from behind a fringe of rainbow-streaked hair, imagining all manner of terrible scenarios as her 'Boy Wonder' went solo.

"Garcia?"

"What?" Yes, the concern in her voice was unmistakable. Even in a single word.

"Worry is the misuse of imagination."

After another brief pause, her voice came back at him. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

Reid grinned. Her anxiety and apprehension had been replaced with quizzical indignation. _A much better taste to leave in her mind than worry._

"Not totally sure. Just something Hotch said. Before we even left Quantico. It's kind of been popping up since then."

"That's 'cause you guys have lots to worry _about_." She sniffed, but he could tell there might be a faint smile hidden in there somewhere. "So as long as we're on the subject…_don't worry_. I'll have your ticket waiting for the next available flight and your package waiting in Miami. Be careful, Reid."

"I will. Thanks, Garcia."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It turned out the next flight to Miami out of the Adirondacks wouldn't be until morning. Reid chafed at the delay, certain that every moment was costing Hotch, pushing him farther away, smothering him in phantoms gathered from another's mind. _**My **__mind. __**My **__phantoms._

With nothing to do but wait, he went in search of Hotch's hospital room.

When he found it, Rossi and Ana were standing beside the bed. The doctor was sitting on the mattress, half supporting Hotch's upper body in his lap. The look on his elderly face as he watched his patient, applying a gentle touch whenever the man stirred, broke Reid's heart, and reassured him at the same time. There was a tenderness that showed this physician didn't just value life…he cherished it. He worshipped it.

The sea-deep voice intruded on Reid's observation. _Life is sacred, young one, as are the connections developed between the living. How could I care any less for this soul whose friends hold it in such high regard? _He looked up at the young agent. _But you shouldn't be here. Until we know how you're sending the power of your memories into him, you should stay away. _

Rossi and Ana watched the realization of something painful transform Reid's expression. Ana knew it must be something the old doctor had 'said.' Rossi had stopped trying to second guess his companions. Despite being a lapsed Catholic, he was still a man of faith. He could accept that there would always be things beyond him…things he couldn't understand. He could allow these people the privacy of their oddities.

The old doctor spoke aloud, still cradling Hotch in gentle, caring arms.

"You should all get some rest. There is nothing more for any of you to do here. And I left word at Millie's that she should expect three guests." The ancient eyes crinkled with amusement. "She's very excited. This will be the biggest crowd she's hosted since, well, the _last_ time your group was here."

Rossi's reluctance was evident. It manifested itself in his unwillingness to look away from Hotch. It underscored the low tone of his voice. "I don't want to leave him."

"As you wish." The doctor rested one encircling arm against Hotch's chest. "But he doesn't need you now. If he needs you tomorrow, you should be rested and ready."

Rossi sighed his acknowledgement of the simple truth. "What about you? He's going to need _you_ even more. When will _you_ rest?"

"Ahhhh. For me it's a different matter." Hotch's head moved. The doctor paused. When nothing more happened, he resumed talking. "He needs me now to keep his ghosts at bay. I can manage my own need for rest as well as his. I'll sit with him through the night, and for as long after that as I am needed. If tomorrow comes, I'll still be able to help."

"'_If_ tomorrow comes?'" All three had caught the unsettling turn of phrase.

The doctor aimed his response at Rossi. "Don't worry. If anything happens during the night, I'll send for you. If we lose this battle before another day dawns, I'll still be able to wake him, and keep him here long enough for you to say 'goodbye.'" He looked from face to face, from shock to denial to sorrow…all the facets of loss displayed in shifting patterns, cascading across the features of this patient's friends. _They love him. Well,…he is deserving of love._

"Now go. Millie's waiting."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The three companions were silent as they left the hospital.

They drove down the street to the B&B. As they unloaded their bags, Rossi looked back toward where Hotch would spend the remaining hours of darkness being held by someone so strange Rossi was questioning whether he could be granted the status of human being. _He's __**transcended**__ his own humanity…_

"Well. _That's_ not how I expected this day to end."

Ana placed a comforting hand on the older agent's arm. Reid decided to allow himself just one more little blip of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Rossi. I wish none of this had ever happened."

"I know. I know, kid. It's just…" He tore his gaze away from the building where Hotch lay and started pulling himself up the steps of Millie's B&B. "…it's a hell of a way to go. And I wonder what Hotch's thinking right now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch was terrified.

Over a year ago, when Reid had nudged the recollection of being drugged and abandoned by Carol Bescardi back into clarity, he'd been more frightened than he could ever remember.

This was so much worse.

Something was holding him down. He couldn't see or hear or feel. There was just…pressure…heavy, pervasive, powerful pressure. It was like being cocooned in wet, black cotton.

At first, he fought it. But every time he came even close to emerging…every time he could catch a glimpse or a fragment of sound…it pushed him back down. When he tried even harder and became aware of what lay beyond the black cotton, he screamed. And screamed. And thought he'd never stop.

All that waited for him _out there_ was horror and cruelty…torn limbs and shredded flesh…children's cries and a grief so massive it crushed the soul out of him. For a time he wasn't sure, but he thought he might be dead. Maybe this was Hell. Maybe it really did exist. Whatever this thing was, it won. He let the black cotton engulf him and felt it thicken and press down on him.

It didn't matter. What existed beyond this vast sensation of nothingness was bigger and stronger than he was. And it hated him. He could feel it wanted him gone.

_And this is my own mind…_

When he realized that, once again, he screamed. And screamed. And this time _didn't_ stop.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Shhhhhh. Shhhhhh. Be still, child. Be still…Aaron…Yes, you're Aaron._

_**HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME HELP…**_

_Shhhhhh. I love you, Aaron. Hold on to that._

The old doctor sighed and tightened his grip, pulling the unconscious man closer, infusing him with warmth from his spirit as well as his body.

_Whatever happens, Aaron. I love you and you won't die alone. Not this time. If you have to leave, it will be with my arms around you. Hold on…hold on._

…_help me…help me…hold me…please…_

Hotch subsided once again and let the dank, black pressure surround and invade him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Before Rossi could ring the bell, the front door opened and the proprietress of Millie's B&B beamed a great smile at her guests.

"Come in! Come in! Welcome back! Ohhhh, it's so good to see you all again!"

The three exchanged looks, taken aback for a moment by this effusive greeting more appropriate to close relatives than relative strangers. But once Rossi stepped into the fussy, little foyer, he understood. And despite the grim happenings of the last few days, he grinned and even had to stifle a laugh.

The wall he remembered as having been adorned with ornate, gilded frames containing floral prints or facsimiles of Victorian postcards, had been redecorated.

Facing him, and anyone else who entered Millie's door…the first thing any visitor would see…was Rossi's FBI business card. The tiny rectangle had been matted in multiple, concentric layers and framed, taking up a ridiculous amount of space. He heard Reid muffle a snort and looked further down the wall. Spaced along it were what looked like portraits at first. When he got closer, Rossi saw his own face, taken from his books' various dust jackets. And, again, matted and framed into a prominence their small size didn't deserve.

Rossi realized the agents' previous visit had made Millie something of a local phenomenon…a star. And now they were reaffirming her celebrity status with another stay.

_I'll have to remind Reid to give her one of his cards, too._

The three weary travelers ascended the stairs to their rooms, accompanied by incessant, almost giddy, chatter.

As Rossi closed his door on Millie's offers to bring him a sandwich or a cup of hot chocolate or more towels or more blankets or….or…., he allowed himself a sad smile.

_Well, at least __**someone**__ is having a wonderful day._


	8. Miami Bound

In deference to the old doctor's warning to stay clear of Hotch, Reid left the next morning without looking in on him again. As Ana drove him to the airport, she could feel his internal turmoil churning, sending out sparks of anxiety. There was a good chance, if he took too long in Miami, he might never see Hotch alive again.

_Don't think that way, Spencer. Grief and fear can distract you. And now is __**not**__ a time to be distracted._

_I know. Oh, God, Ana. I don't even know what I'm looking for. What if I fail?_

_Then you'll know…and I'll know…you tried your best. And don't shortchange your intuition. It's a lot more than a hunch that you're seeking out Julio Ruiz…and bringing along that thing you asked Garcia to overnight to Miami?...It's a lot more than a stab in the dark. Trust yourself, Spencer. I do._

He looked at her and felt so much. Almost too much.

_If anything happens with Hotch while I'm gone, promise me you'll let me know right away?_

_Promise. With all my heart. Promise._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Millie was a little put out that her guests had been in such a rush that morning.

They hadn't done the tremendous breakfast she'd risen extra early to prepare justice. And they hadn't seemed to want to chat about anything. And the older one had kept eyeing her foyer as though it _wasn't_ an honor that she'd transformed the entire expanse of wall space into an homage to his previous visit.

But then, after a few hurried bites of toast, they'd left to attend to whatever deliciously dangerous business real, honest-to-goodness FBI agents dealt with, and been seen by no less than three neighbors and two shopkeepers as they descended her porch steps. Millie knew the word would spread faster than the English ivy she was always trimming back from her picket fence. She smiled with satisfaction, waving at the young couple as they drove away, leaving the older gentleman to trudge down the street toward the hospital.

_That must mean there's another one here who's sick or hurt. Maybe he'll need to recuperate and they'll all stay a nice, long time!_ She hugged the tantalizingly hopeful thought to herself in private glee.

As she went back inside, she dug her hand into her apron pocket and fished out her newest trophy. This time the younger agent had given her his card. Millie's sigh was filled with happy anticipation. She would need to have it framed. The delightful prospect of spending the morning planning an augmented display for her foyer hall almost made up for her suspicion that the young couple had sneaked together sometime during the night. Almost.

Millie raised her nose and gave a superior sniff. FBI agent or no, she'd need to have a discussion with the young man about propriety. The diamond on the girl's finger wasn't a passport to improper behavior.

Not until it was joined by a wedding band, anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi nodded at the receptionist, murmuring a greeting as he made his way to Hotch's room.

Nothing had changed. _No news is good news,_ he reminded himself. The elderly doctor was still cradling Hotch in his arms. He showed no signs of fatigue and even smiled as Rossi entered.

"He had a few rough moments, but he's holding his own." The look of relief in the older agent's eyes touched the doctor. He wanted to offer comfort, but he knew how cruel that would be if it proved false. It was much better to stick to the truth.

Rossi pulled up a chair. After a moment, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across Hotch's gaunt cheek. "Does he know I'm here? Can he hear us?"

"No. I'm keeping him as far from conscious perception as I can without damaging him. It's for the best." The doctor watched Rossi's face sag into lines of sorrow and had to offer something, if only to sustain a tiny speck of hope. "If it helps, I can tell you he knows he's loved. I've been reminding him throughout the night."

Rossi's lips quirked upwards at the corners. It was more wry grimace than smile. "I'm not even going to ask you how that's possible."

"I agree. Best not to."

After a few minutes of silence, Rossi reached out again, this time running a hand down one of Hotch's arms from shoulder to elbow. "I wish I could help."

"The only one who can help is your young friend. I'm sure he'll do all he can."

"He will. He left for the airport. Should be in Miami in a few hours. After that…I just don't know."

"No one does. All we can do is wait."

After another long pause during which Rossi simply watched the rise and fall of Hotch's chest, something occurred to him. "Don't you have other patients who need you?"

"Not as much as this one." The doctor tilted his head and scanned the face of the man he held. "And there are very few patients I like as much as this one." His voice lowered to a soft murmur. "I'll fight for him, but be prepared…Sometimes I lose."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was having a hard time containing his nervous energy.

From the moment he took his seat, he fidgeted incessantly. The man sitting beside him kept casting glances his way. Reid got the point. As soon as the 'fasten seatbelt' sign winked off, he unbuckled and paced the length of the cabin. When he realized he was now making _all_ the passengers as well as the crew uneasy, he ducked into one of the tiny lavatories.

He stared into the small mirror over the stainless steel sink and concentrated on recalling every detail of the last time he'd been in Miami. Now that the old doctor had told him his memories were devoid of some element of power since the Florida case, he wondered why he hadn't been aware of that…why he hadn't made the connection himself.

_Because I was totally freaked out about the headaches. I was so scared about inheriting Mom's schizophrenia, I lost track of everything else. And I was so ashamed, I hid it from the others. Well, __**almost**__ all the others._

Reid recalled telling Prentiss about his headaches, but he'd never gone into detail, or tied in his fear of mental illness. And he'd sworn her to secrecy. But that was several cases later…long after Florida…long after the damage, or change, or _whatever_ you wanted to call it, had been done.

He remembered brushing Hotch's genuine concern off. The Unit Chief had asked him if he was alright. And the tone in his voice had been so sincere, Reid had felt a frisson of embarrassment for his own weakness. So he'd swept by his boss and denied anything was wrong.

The headaches had gradually eased and then, miraculously, disappeared.

_Only it wasn't a miracle. It was a curse._

And that brought to mind the man in Miami who had looked into his eyes and seen…something. Something so obvious to him, he'd felt the need to warn a total stranger, despite that stranger taking an adversarial role as his interrogator.

Julio Ruiz.

In retrospect, Reid had to admit, although Ruiz had a violent past, he'd shown nothing but concern and kindness during the investigation. He'd insisted that he and Reid had some kind of connection. He'd seen something that made him want to help the young agent.

_If I knew then what I know now…_

But the whole supernatural, paranormal, quasi-religious atmosphere pervading the investigation was something Reid hadn't believed in. Now he knew better. Now he was part of that world. Now he'd dragged Hotch into it. Now that world was killing one of his best friends.

_And I'm not even sure about what I'm doing here._

He gave a weak laugh. In spite of everything he'd been through over the last year, Reid realized he _still_ didn't quite believe in the paranormal. He was _still_ a man of science who preferred quantifiable proof to hazy conjecture.

_How much more proof do I need before I accept it all? Does Hotch have to die for me to finally believe?_

The cabin intercom announced approach to Miami and requested all passengers take their seats. Reid splashed cold water on his face and returned to where his seatmate eyed him curiously.

"You okay, buddy?"

Reid buckled himself in and tried to be cordial. "Yeah. Just a nervous flyer. Sorry."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With nothing but his go-bag as carry-on luggage, Reid navigated the arrival area quickly, making his way to the central security office. He flashed his badge at the officer on duty.

"I'm here to pick up a package for Spencer Reid. It should have been overnighted from Quantico, Virginia."

After having his ID checked a second time, Reid was handed a small, FedEx box. He shoved it into his bag and headed for the area where signs proclaimed cars available for rent. Anxious to be on his way, he cut the rental agent off when she tried to exchange pleasantries…and then apologized for his abrupt manner.

Once in the car, he checked his phone, blessing Garcia for her efficiency. Julio Ruiz was still living in the same place, above the soup kitchen he helped run. Reid turned the key in the ignition. As the engine stuttered into life, he tore open the FedEx box and shook the contents out into his lap.

He stared at the bracelet of tiny, yellow beads and remembered Ruiz's words when he'd slipped it onto Reid's wrist. _I no longer need protection. You do._

Reid had worn the harmless-looking trinket for months, concealing it beneath the cuff of his shirt. But one day Morgan had seen it and made a joking comment about Pretty Boys who accessorize. He'd taken it off and stuffed it away in the back of a drawer. And forgotten all about it.

He wasn't sure why, but the thing made him shiver. He thought of Ana telling him to trust his hunches, his intuition. So he did.

Reid slipped the bracelet onto his wrist and went in search of the man who'd given it to him.


	9. Palo Reunion

"Can I get you anything to eat? Drink?"

Rossi had been watching the elderly physician holding Hotch for hours. He felt the need to stretch his own legs and maybe find a snack. He imagined this man who'd been with Hotch throughout the night must be in need of _something_. A break. Refreshment. _Something_.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." The doctor shifted position, pulling his patient a little closer. When Rossi stood, he glanced up at him. "You might want to find the empath. She's back from delivering her…husband?..." Rossi shook his head. "..Ah, well, he will be eventually. Some things carry their own momentum and those two are locked on a path together. Anyway, she's back now."

Rossi studied Hotch's impassive face and wished he could see the scowl that he liked to poke fun at, calling it Hotch's 'wolf-eye' look. Almost on cue, the Unit Chief's eyebrows twitched. Hope flared in Rossi's heart, but died just as quickly. The doctor tightened his embrace and made soft shushing sounds.

_Shhhhhh. Shhhhhh. Don't look at them, son. Close your eyes, Aaron. I won't let them take you. Not yet._ When Hotch had quieted, he addressed Rossi's questioning expression. "I told him to avert his mind's eye. He shouldn't see the thing trying to form in there. He keeps struggling, looking for an enemy to fight, because he doesn't understand the possible consequences."

"Neither do I. What if he _does_ see…whatever it is. I thought the danger was if this thing gathers itself together."

"If it solidifies itself, yes…we'll lose him. It'll be too late. However, I can feel his terror when he senses it even now, in its formative stages. If he 'sees' it too clearly, if he gets too close to it, I'm afraid it'll stop his heart. Or take his sanity." The doctor gave Hotch's shoulders a squeeze. "I'm shielding him as best I can, but the more rested his body gets, the more he's fighting his way to the surface."

"And if he wakes up, then the thing will pick up speed and form all the faster?"

"Yes."

Rossi swallowed. "I think I'll go find Ana…the, uh…empath." At the door he turned for another look at the tableau of doctor and patient. "Doctor, does this hospital have a chapel?"

"It does. Nondenominational. At the end of the hall, turn right and follow the signs."

Rossi nodded. He hadn't prayed in a church or any other form of sacred space for quite a while.

It seemed like a good time to resume the practice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was glad the car he'd rented was older and even sported a few dents and some dust, as though there hadn't been time to wash it between customers. He had a feeling he'd be conspicuous enough without driving into the neighborhood surrounding Ruiz's soup kitchen in some flashy ride.

He was right.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, he was the focal point of curious stares. There wasn't overt hostility; merely an all-inclusive regard that said 'you don't belong here.' He hoped Ruiz was working. He'd decided against calling the man beforehand in case he declined an invitation to meet. With Hotch's life at stake, Reid wasn't about to give him a choice.

As he walked the short distance from his car to the kitchen's front door, Reid was hyper-aware. Even though he wasn't on official business and didn't have the security of a partner by his side, he'd opted to wear his gun where it was clearly visible. He'd worked hard to earn the right to bear arms, but he sometimes debated the merit of doing so. In some situations, a visible weapon could be viewed as a challenge…more an incitement to violence than a deterrent.

But no one approached him or addressed him in any manner. Still, he was relieved when he stepped indoors. He'd felt _watched_, but it wasn't attributable to the stares of the residents. _It's almost as though something were hovering over this place…keeping track of comings and goings. Weird._ Reid decided he was being supernaturally paranoid and shook off the sensation. The moment he did so, he could hear Ana's voice as she drove him to the airport, telling him to trust his intuition, his hunches. _Well, if something's here, standing sentinel, there's nothing I can do about it. I don't even know if I __**should**__ do anything about it._ Reid reminded himself to take things a step at a time and focus on his primary goal: helping Hotch.

He let the door behind him swing shut and went down the hallway, toward the sounds of clinking silverware and the low buzz of subdued conversation. Reid stood in the wide, double-door entrance and surveyed the scene before him. It was almost exactly as he remembered. _Maybe a few more stains and lumps in the linoleum. Maybe a few more chips and cracks on the formica tabletops._ But, essentially, nothing had changed in the soup kitchen serving the denizens of Julio Ruiz's home turf.

And at the far end of the room, behind the counter spanning nearly the entire width of the space, stood a tall, athletically powerful man with richly colored skin…watching Reid. No smile. No frown. Just…wary regard.

Reid knew that to this man the facial expressions and small talk most of humanity relied on to navigate social situations were useless…transparent veneers that cloaked truer, harsher reality. Julio Ruiz saw things more deeply and responded to them on a more visceral level. It could make people uncomfortable. It could make them scared. It had power, and that was what Reid felt now, seeing Ruiz for the first time since coming more fully into his psychic abilities. Reid saw raw power that could go either way: deadly or healing. It all depended on the man wielding it. _And I wonder what he's been through since we met. Considering how much __**I've**__ changed,…has he?_

Reid took a tentative step into the room, drawing glances from the few patrons scattered throughout the large space.

Ruiz stepped out from behind the counter. There was nothing tentative about _his_ movements. He strode to Reid and stopped…mere inches separating them. He searched Reid's eyes, his own never wavering, never evasive. Their gazes locked, he reached down, grasped Reid's wrist and brought it up between them. Only then did his eyes flick away. He looked at the beaded bracelet and a spectrum of emotions played across his features. Reid saw approval, followed by puzzlement, followed by concern, followed by horror.

The eyes so dark they appeared to have no pupils…or maybe to be entirely pupil…returned to Reid's. When he spoke, Ruiz's voice pulled the young agent back into the depths of the world of the Palero priest. It was deep and smoky. It carried experiences steeped in incense and sweat and blood and heat and fear. His fingers tightened around the bony wrist.

"What have you done…"

And of all the things swimming in Julio Ruiz's eyes, the most prominent was fear.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch's subconscious was gathering itself.

It sensed…things…moving around it. And it felt the force that was shielding it, holding it down and preventing it from bridging over into full awareness.

It didn't know what it all meant, or why it was happening. But it was sure of one thing: it couldn't remain in this…state…for much longer. And if something was in this mind, sharing space with it, as much as the very concept drenched it in terror, it wanted a confrontation.

Hotch was not a man who would go quietly.

Hotch's subconscious was gathering itself for one last battle.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana and Rossi didn't have much to say to each other. Both were immersed in their private thoughts, although Rossi was wondering if such a thing as a private thought was even possible around Reid and Ana.

"Can you tell what I'm thinking?" He asked her so casually, it might have been the most banal question in the world…_Can you tell me the time?_...

Ana blinked, but then a small line of concentration appeared between her brows.

"No. I can't." She looked at Rossi's sad eyes. They didn't give away any of his thoughts either. "I can tell what you're feeling, but the only one I can connect with telepathically is Spencer. And sometimes Hotch."

"Sometimes Hotch?"

"Yeah." Their eyes met. "My God, I wonder if when I'm reading Hotch, if that's because of the part of Spencer that's been transferred into him."

"Maybe." Rossi looked away and sighed. "I'm gonna take a walk…stretch my legs and then go back and sit with Hotch some more. Wanna join me?"

"Sure."

So Rossi and Ana walked side by side in silence from one end of town to the other, keeping each other a rather absent sort of company.

Rossi's thoughts were back in the hospital room.

Ana's were in Miami.

Hotch would have said, and Reid would have confirmed, both were vigorously misusing their imaginations.


	10. Orisha

Ana's phone was having trouble getting a strong signal. She held it at different angles and walked slowly, eyes fastened to the display. She needed to call Spencer and see how he was…see if there was anything she could do to help.

Rossi had asked her if she'd like to get something to eat, but she wasn't hungry. Not for food. The only thing she craved was the sound of Spencer's voice. They hadn't been separated by this much distance since they'd met. His absence felt like a hollow place inside her. It couldn't be assuaged by anything less than his voice, or his touch, or…best of all…his thoughts echoing in her mind. _I never realized how much I'd miss him._

But her phone's coverage wasn't cooperating. She sighed and kept trying, wandering down the dusty street like a disconsolate ghost bereft of anyone to haunt.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi stood in the street, watching Ana's slow step by step progress. He wasn't really hungry either, but investigating what this tiny settlement had to offer in the way of culinary accomplishments was a way to pass the time until…_What? Until we hear from Reid? Until Aaron dies? Or goes insane?_

He decided to take a closer look at the few stores that lined the only route through town. He hadn't gone more than five steps when he heard someone calling loudly.

"Mr. Rosie! Yooo hoooo! Mr. Rosie!"

He turned to see Millie standing on her porch, clutching a shawl around her plump shoulders with one hand. The other was waving back and forth in a frantic attempt to attract his attention. Rossi winced. Very few people had difficulty with his name. Millie was proving the exception.

When he noticed they had an audience of locals, he understood. The foyer devoted to his last stay had probably been viewed by every citizen within a twenty mile radius. It had become something of a local attraction, making the B&B proprietress a celebrity. Now she was renewing her connection to the drama and romance of having hosted federal agents, of being part of their dark and dangerous world…flirting with firsthand knowledge of the seamy underbelly of humanity. Rossi sighed. It would be too cruel to show her up in front of her peers.

Ever the gentleman, he smiled and crossed to Millie's side of the street.

"Mr. Rosie! If you're looking for lunch, I have roast chicken and the best homemade apple pie in the county, if I do say so myself."

Rossi could sense the tension as watchful eyes and ears waited for his response. He had the power to make or break her. He gave his answer in a voice loud enough to be heard by the majority of spectators. Kind enough to send a thrill through Millie's heart.

"That sounds delicious, Miss Millie. And please, call me Dave." _Really. Please. Just don't call me 'Mr. Rosie' __**ever**__ again…_He ascended the steps knowing that he had just ensured Millie and her FBI connection would be the stuff of story and rumor for a long, long time in this tiny, nameless town.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Julio Ruiz ushered Reid upstairs to his living quarters.

He removed his apron, dropping it over one of several hardback chairs sharing space with a lumpy looking bed, a low table, and a construction of bricks and sticks that drew Reid's attention. It was topped by an iron container, vaguely cauldron-shaped. Inside were a collection of items he couldn't quite make out in the dim lighting. But he knew what it was.

A_ Nganga_…the focal point of a Palo Mayombe altar.

Ruiz rounded on Reid and locked eyes with him again, reading…something. He glanced at the beaded bracelet encircling the agent's wrist. Reid's anxiety level spiked upward when the Palero priest stepped backward, distancing himself from his visitor.

"You come for help…again." Julio's shadowed eyes glinted. He raised his chin and surveyed the young FBI agent. "Only this time, your adversary is far more dangerous than a man whose head is spoiled. And it is of your own creation."

Reid felt his skin shiver, the hairs on his neck rising. Now that he was face to face with the man he'd sought, he didn't know what to say…how to begin. But time was of the essence, so he said the only thing that was running through his mind. "Help me."

He had no idea it was the same plea endlessly screaming through Hotch's subconscious as an elderly doctor held him close.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"I wasn't sure I'd find you. I didn't know if you'd still be in the same place…" Reid looked around the room with its shabby furniture. "…but I had to try."

"Where else should I be?" Julio busied himself lighting the stubs of candles…pillars of wax infusing the air with herbal fragrance that Reid sensed had more to do with creating a sacred space than with any aromatherapy value. "This is a place of power. This is where I am needed. It would take much more than one man's sickness to drive me away."

"Still, I'm glad you were working today."

"Last time, _you_ came when you heard me call, and you helped me. I wasn't going to be in the kitchen today, but I heard your call. I waited for you."

Reid's small hairs had subsided, but Julio's words made them rise again, his neck prickling, the flesh on his arms pebbling. Silence dropped between the two men. An onlooker would have remarked on their differences first; their similarities second. Physically, one was pale…the other dark. One was slender to the point of frailty…the other well-muscled. One had an open, defenseless demeanor…the other displayed fierce, forbidding power. But beneath their appearances, if the observer was gifted enough to see such things, both men were touched with a strangeness that could only be described as otherworldly. It was an aura that, once suspected, few cared to explore.

It had sounded more like an accusation when he'd first uttered it, but now Ruiz repeated his first words to Reid. "What have you done?" He gestured for his guest to be seated.

"I don't know. That is, I've been told some stuff, but I don't know how I could have…when I might have…"

"Stop." The Palero priest's voice demanded obedience. So Reid stopped trying to explain the inexplicable. When Ruiz pulled a chair opposite him and sat so close their knees touched, Reid's breath quickened, but he didn't move away. When Julio leaned forward, gripping his shoulders and looking into his eyes with almost painful intensity, Reid forced himself to meet his gaze…to look back into the hypnotic darkness.

Reid lost track of time. The priest began murmuring words, repeating phrases…almost chanting them…speaking them directly into Reid's face…aiming them at him. Reid strained to catch every syllable. If this was a repetition of his previous encounter with Julio, he knew that he was hearing something bordering on prophetic…words from Ruiz's _orisha_, his saint. The power that guided his steps and protected him.

Reid had skimmed the surface of some of the Afro-Caribbean religions during the BAU's original case. He'd soon become lost in the branching, diverging combinations and transmutations. He still felt that there was no single resource for studying Julio's beliefs. But as his awakened psychic abilities focused on the man gripping his shoulders and speaking more _into_ him than _at_ him, Reid began to understand a little more.

All religion had power. But when Reid thought of Rossi's Catholicism…it's pageantry, beauty and strength bolstered by tradition and unwavering faith, it felt…different…than what he was picking up from Julio Ruiz. What he felt now drew on some of the same saints and doctrines, but it pulled on a power that was more available, more pervasive. Something about it frightened him. It was alien to his upbringing, yet he couldn't deny the force of its presence. And it was everywhere.

Just as Reid began to think of breaking away, of tearing himself out of Julio's grasp, the Palero gave a final shout and pushed Reid backwards, almost unseating him.

The two men were breathing heavily. Ruiz scooted his chair back, giving them both a little more personal space.

"What did he say?"

"Your saint?"

Julio nodded. He looked tired, concerned. Reid swallowed and accessed his phenomenal memory.

"Barabara ni walivuka."

"The roads are crossed," Julio translated.

"Vizuka kufuata njia rahisi."

"The ghosts follow the stronger path now."

"Kuwaleta nyumbani."

"Bring them home."

Reid blinked, wondering if there was any help to be had, any conclusion to be drawn from these cryptic words.

Time was running out. The weight of the last few days, of Hotch's deterioration, of the team's reliance on him to make everything right, landed on Reid with crushing force. As much as he resisted the impulse, as much as he didn't want to cry in front of this man, tears of frustration and weariness leaked from under his lids.

It didn't help that through the prismatic effect of overfull eyes, he saw salty tracks staining Ruiz's face as well.


	11. Crossed Paths

Julio wiped at his eyes, seeing his movements mirrored by the young FBI agent sitting across from him.

He gave Reid a rueful grin and shook his head. "It is easy to join your path…to have your feelings inside my head. We are connected. I always suspected so."

Reid couldn't explain how he felt. Boiling up inside him was a restlessness composed of undirected anger at the thing destroying Hotch, disgust at what he viewed as his own ineffectuality in finding a solution, and a fear of failing the Unit Chief that made him want to howl with anguish.

"Being connected to me isn't a good thing. It's killing my friend."

Julio's grin faded. "Try to calm yourself. I'll go down to the kitchen. Make us some tea. When I return, tell me what has been happening with you. Maybe we can learn why my saint speaks to you of ghosts again."

Reid spent the intervening time taking deep breaths and organizing his thoughts. Now was not the moment to stumble in his quest to save Hotch. When Julio came back with a steaming ceramic pot and mismatched cups, the young agent was ready. As cogently, as succinctly as he could, Reid covered all the main points in both his development and Hotch's devolution. Ruiz was silent, giving his guest complete, rapt attention.

By the time he'd finished, the tea had gone cold and Reid was feeling the strain of reining himself in, giving a factual rather than emotional account of all that had transpired since the last time he was in Miami. Until he'd voiced it, he hadn't realized just how eventful those months had been. That and the look of respect…albeit _troubled_ respect…on Julio's face, helped restore his confidence.

Privately, Reid marveled at how much more stable and capable he felt when Ana was nearby. Somehow she helped him feel whole. Without her, he imagined himself a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. And more crumbling away all the time…

Julio sipped from his tepid cup and fastened his gaze on Reid's wrist. His head nodded once in decisive approval. "I knew you needed protection. I am glad to see you agreed. You still wear the charm, how my Enfumbe asks that you be followed, asks that you be looked after."

"Enfumbe?" Reid remembered seeing the word during his research, but with so many variations and interpretations, he didn't want to make any assumptions about how Julio might be using the term.

"Enfumbe." Ruiz put his cup down and leaned forward. On his Palero path, he'd become a healer as well as a teacher. He appreciated anyone who asked questions…as long as they weren't tied to a police investigation, that is. "Every Palero has one of the dead to help him on his path. It is part of the Nganga."

"Like a dead ancestor?"

"No. Not a relative. Someone else." Julio's teeth flashed white as he smiled in the dim confines of his room. "And before you ask…No, I do not sacrifice any man, and I do not dig up graves for remains. Those are false tales of the fearful and ignorant. The dead surround us. You do not need to desecrate the dead for them to notice you. For them to notice your need."

"So…someone dead just _came_ to you?" Reid didn't get the feeling that this man used his power to kill or maim either physically or spiritually. Still, the question begged an answer.

"I asked Elegua to send me a guide, if he found me worthy. He found me worthy. So he did."

Reid sensed the matter was closed. To pry deeper would be intrusive and inappropriate in Ruiz's world. And he didn't want to offend this man. Not when he might hold the key to saving Hotch.

"So your…Enfumbe…knows me by the bracelet?"

"No. The dead one only _asks_ on your behalf. The power to protect you is part of Elegua accepting you as one he will guard. But, yes, the charm you wear lets them find you; helps you to remain safe."

Reid swallowed. His throat felt dry. "Julio, what if I didn't wear it all the time? What if I took it off for a while…a long while?"

Ruiz lowered his eyes and licked his lips, also suddenly dry. "That would be very bad. If there is more to your story, then you must tell me…everything…now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi left Millie's B&B feeling uncomfortably sated.

He hadn't really been hungry, but the combination of the woman's incessant chatter and her constant exhortations to 'Eat! Eat!' had made consumption of what amounted to a seven course feast the safest option. It was that, or engage in conversation that would have demanded a lot of tap dancing to avoid discussing sensitive issues.

Rossi didn't want to be rude. Millie's intentions were good; her desire to be socially prominent by virtue of association with FBI agents was understandable and…when viewed through Rossi's kind nature, eminently forgivable.

He left, suffering no worse than a strained stomach and a place at the top of Millie's list of Christmas card recipients.

Rossi scanned the street and didn't see Ana. _She must have gone back to the hospital._ He walked toward the stolid-looking building. It was really the only place he wanted to be, too.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes, permitting himself a groan of sheer frustration. There was no way he could have known what he was doing when he removed the beaded bracelet, because he hadn't known _how_ the thing worked.

"So, if I understand correctly, _this_…" he held out his arm, exposing the yellow beads encircling its wrist. "…_this_ repels…reflects the ghosts you say are born from my job and are spoiling my brain."

Ruiz nodded.

"And it _deflects_ them out…it _disperses_ the ghosts."

Ruiz nodded.

"And then I developed a _connection_ with my friend, Hotch. And I took the bracelet off. And the ghosts didn't disperse anymore. They _traveled a path_. The path that connected me to Aaron Hotchner?"

Ruiz nodded.

"And even if I wear the bracelet again, the path into Hotch is established. It entices, it calls, it gathers the ghosts and deposits them into him?"

Ruiz nodded.

And then, finally, sadly, at last Ruiz spoke. "Here is what I think my saint meant. 'The roads are crossed': the way that helped you, that dispersed what infects you, has meshed with the path that travels into your friend's mind. 'The ghosts follow the stronger path': your tie to your friend is a power in and of itself. You love him. The ghosts feel this. They follow this.

Reid closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards. He was a picture of exhaustion and defeat. "So what does your saint mean by 'Bring them home?'"

Ruiz let his head drop forward over the hands clasped in his lap…the opposite of Reid's pose. "I think it means you must reclaim them…the ghosts. Bring them back to you." He looked up at the FBI agent who, at the moment, seemed so very vulnerable. "The only way to save your friend is to let the things that were spoiling your head…back in."

After a moment of silent thought, Reid came to a decision. "How do I do that?"

Julio shook his head. "It would take another charm…but…"

"But…what?"

"But I can't make that happen without seeing your friend…touching him…knowing him."

Reid had only one more question. Only one more thing he needed from this strange trip that might accomplish nothing…that might lead nowhere, but that might mean everything when it came to saving Hotch.

"I need to get back to my friend. Will you come with me?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The old doctor sensed a change.

He adjusted his grip, lifting Hotch higher against him, letting the head with its thick, dark, disheveled hair fall back to rest on his shoulder.

_Not yet, son. Your nature is to fight. Learn a new way, Aaron. Let yourself be cared for. Let me take this battle from you._

Hotch's soft moan ended on a sigh. Muscles that had tensed…eased. The doctor closed his eyes, satisfied in having averted the confrontation between monster and man one more time.

_But he's struggling. And he's strong. And if I don't let him surface soon, he'll be damaged anyway…battering himself against too many strangers inside his mind._

The doctor shifted, stroking a hand absently along the agent's side, feeling the corrugated prominence of his ribs.

_The difficult part will be knowing when to admit defeat…when to call this man's once-and-future father to bid him farewell…_


	12. A Priceless Gift

Julio Ruiz had never been to upstate New York.

As a matter of fact, other than Cuba and Florida, he wasn't much of a traveler. It took a little convincing from Reid for him to pack warm clothing in deference to the northern climate and the higher elevation. He added a few toiletries and then spent some time going through closets, cabinets and drawers, selecting ingredients for the creation of a new charm…or spell…or whatever his examination of Hotch revealed as necessary to lift the malaise infecting him. Since he couldn't know precisely what was needed, Julio tried to cover his bases. Reid watched uneasily as vials of powders, beads, pebbles, oils, feathers and small cloth bags with unknown contents piled up higher and higher.

He hoped his FBI status would allay any concerns about Julio's carry-on luggage. Most of all, he wished the Palero priest would hurry. A call to Garcia ensured a ticket would be waiting for Ruiz at the airport. As he grew increasingly anxious, Reid decided the only thing that would calm him was Ana's voice. He stepped into the hall and leaned against a wall as he waited for the connection to go through.

When she answered on the first ring, he felt knots of tension loosen. Suddenly, it was easier to breathe, to think. Suddenly, it was easier to hope. When Ana spoke, he knew that even over the miles, there was still some link between them.

"Spencer, you found him!"

"Yeah. He's packing and we'll be on our way back in just a little bit."

"He's coming with you?" He could hear the incredulity in her question.

"I know. I didn't expect him to be so willing to help, but I guess this whole situation is way stranger than I suspected." He gave a rueful laugh devoid of humor. "And considering how totally _odd_ the world has become over the last year, that's saying something."

"But he's coming, Spencer. That's great! I'll tell Rossi and the doctor."

"How's Hotch doing?"

The pause before she answered tweaked Reid's worry-reflex more than anything Ana might have said.

"Just hurry, okay?"

"Tell Hotch to hang on. Even if you don't think he can hear you. Tell him."

"I will. Promise. Get back safely, Spencer. I love you."

"Love you. Miss you."

The connection began to fray into static. Just as Julio stepped into the hall, bag in hand, it failed completely. Reid sighed and pocketed his phone, looking the Palero up and down.

"Ready?"

Ruiz nodded. "I should tell you I don't like flying." He swallowed the nervous lump already forming in his throat.

"I really appreciate what you're doing for me…for Hotch. I never expected…" Reid's gratitude exceeded his capacity for words. He hoped the hand he placed on Ruiz's shoulder conveyed the depth of his feelings.

Julio nodded and, in turn, gave Reid's shoulder a pat in passing. "Let's go. Before I change my mind."

The young agent moved with speed and purpose. There was no way he'd give Julio time to reconsider his generous offer of help.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Ana returned to Hotch's hospital room she found Rossi had preceded her. He was sitting in a chair pulled as close as possible to the doctor, whose arms never seemed to tire from holding his patient. Both looked up when she entered.

"Spencer's on his way back." She saw Rossi's uncertain expression. Returning so soon either meant unprecedented success or decisive failure. Her smile reassured him even before she elaborated.

"He found Julio Ruiz and he's bringing him back here."

"Does he know what's wrong? Can he help?" Rossi's hope was conditional at best, but it was so much more than he'd had just seconds ago.

"He didn't say. The connection wasn't good and they had to get going." Ana's next words were directed to the doctor. "Spencer asked me to tell Hotch to hang on. Even if he can't hear me."

The doctor's compassionate eyes crinkled at the corners. _You're an empath who keeps company with a telepath. An extraordinarily strong telepath. Your powers are growing beyond their natural limits because of the company you keep. And both of you love this man. Who can say for sure that he won't hear you? _Ana felt the burn of tears trying to form behind her eyelids. The doctor nodded in understanding. _Pain and overpowering love are the most common reasons for crying. Use the power of your love, empath. Touch him when you talk to him._

Rossi watched the silent communication and thought he could guess the gist of it. When Ana sat on the bed, facing the doctor and the man clasped in his arms, Rossi looked away. It seemed the right thing to do…to acknowledge a private moment between Ana and Hotch.

Ana was a little scared. She hadn't really touched Hotch since the doctor had rendered him unconscious. She knew she couldn't help him, but she also felt a bit cowardly…as though she'd deserted Hotch by avoiding contact. She'd been instrumental over the months in encouraging Spencer to overcome his tendency to accept guilt. She gave herself a firm reminder to follow her own advice. A pulse of warm approval washed over her and she glanced up at the doctor. Although he could communicate with her mentally, she knew it wasn't due to _her_ talent. Aside from Spencer, she didn't have the ability to send her thoughts to anyone at will. She knew if the doctor was monitoring her, it was his gift, not hers, that made it possible. But sometimes she could 'hear' Hotch, too. And now she was scared of what might be there, waiting for her. She didn't want the gentle, sweet personality to have…changed.

The doctor sat a little straighter, as though presenting his patient to her, as though offering easier access to Hotch. _Don't worry. I'm here and I'll hold onto him. Don't worry._

A phrase wafted across her mind. _Worry is the misuse of imagination._ Ana smiled and reached out, focusing her energy the way she did when she joined her abilities to Spencer's, bolstering him, increasing his strength. She pressed a hand against Hotch's chest and let the steady thumping of his heart vibrate through her fingers. She closed her eyes.

_It's me, Hotch. It's Ana. Spencer's on his way with help. He wants you to hold on a little longer. For him. For us. We love you. Don't leave us. Hold on. Hold on. Hold…_ And something surged forward, assaulting Ana's mind, throwing her backwards. She cried out in surprise, hit the floor and scrabbled backwards, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the bed, eyes wide with shock.

Rossi had turned back at her shout. From his perspective, it looked as though Ana had been lifted and tossed. He leapt from his chair and knelt beside her, looking back toward the doctor and Hotch. The doctor's grip had tightened. Rossi thought that if Hotch had been awake, it would have hurt to be held, to be squeezed, that hard.

"What the hell was that!?" Rossi could tell the doctor was concentrating. His brow creased. His gaze was fixed on Hotch's quiet, blank face. When there was no immediate answer, the agent helped Ana to her feet. "Are you okay?" She nodded, seemingly unable to look away from the two men on the bed. "Ana? Ana!" She blinked and turned to look at Rossi. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure." She held her hands before her, watching them tremble. "I could sense him…Hotch…and then, something just _came_ at me!"

"What?! What was it?"

"All I know is…it wasn't Hotch." She felt tears spilling over. " Dave, I could feel him there. But it's like he's taking up hardly any room at all. Something else is there and it's…it's just…so…big. And he's all crushed into a corner and…" Ana finally let the sob she'd been fighting happen. "…and he can't breathe in there…There's not enough room anymore…" She leaned over, trying to regain control. "Oh, God…Hotch…"

Rossi hugged her and deposited her in the chair he'd vacated. When she seemed better, he turned his attention to the doctor. "Is what she says true? Is that …thing…winning?"

The old doctor was cradling Hotch gently once again, watching his face intently. He looked up at Rossi's frantic demand for an answer.

"Yes. It's winning." With a sad, grave smile he looked at Ana. "But he heard you. He recognized your touch." He brushed Hotch's hair back and traced the contours of the lean face with gentle fingers. "He'll do his best to survive until your telepath returns. You've given him hope…Ana…"

It was the first time the doctor had used her proper name. She felt honored. The old man's voice grew low, as though he were caressing Hotch with sound as well as with his thought and touch.

"Hope is a priceless gift." _Well done, empath._


	13. Rapid Transit

The flight north was not one Reid would care to repeat.

As he'd suspected, Ruiz would never have made it past security on his own. Reid had flashed his badge and had his identity verified twice. When he finally lost his temper and shouted at a cadre of indecisive guards that their skepticism was costing a man his life, and if they didn't suck it up and let him escort the Palero priest through, he'd gladly help said priest cast spells on each of them that would curse their families for generations and shrivel all their reproductive organs…they backed down. Reid was gratified to see a few of them cross themselves as he passed. A year ago he didn't think he'd have had the innate power to browbeat anyone, let alone half a dozen overly-officious airport employees.

That was hurdle number one. Number two popped up after they boarded.

When Julio had said he didn't like flying, Reid had thought he meant he just wasn't particularly fond of the mode of travel. He did _not_ envision the Palero scrunched into his seat, sweating profusely and clutching his carry-on with its strange burden of aromatic herbs and oils, and other mystically-charged items, as though it were a flotation device and they were already sinking into a depthless void.

Reid offered comforting statistics about how air travel was eminently safer than driving. He abandoned the tactic when Julio muttered that he didn't own a car and preferred walking to his destinations. He explained that he lived in a neighborhood where everything he needed was contained within a ten block perimeter. Cars weren't necessary in the life of Julio Ruiz.

He did, however, like boats. So Reid endeavored to engage him in conversations about water travel, hoping it would distract him. It didn't work. When Ruiz said he wanted to dig into his bag and concoct a protection charm, something to deflect fiery crashes, Reid became a little nervous himself. The thought of the priest spreading out his wares in the aisle, and performing the ceremony that would call his saint to him made Reid's mouth go dry with apprehension.

And that was what finally led to a solution for Julio's jitters.

Reid called an attendant and asked for something to drink. When the beverage cart was wheeled up, with a display of tiny bottles of rum nestled among cans of pineapple juice in prominence, Reid grabbed the opportunity. It took a triple shot of rum, but Julio began to relax. Reid kept a careful watch on him.

"Julio, don't get drunk. We need to get to Hotch as fast as possible and you'll have to be at the top of your game, ya know?"

The Palero grinned and raised his plastic cup in acknowledgment. "I won't be the one helping your friend. My saint will. Don't worry. If he can be healed, and it suits Elegua, my condition will have no effect." But in deference to Reid's anxious expression, it was Julio's last drink.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Garcia had called Ana to let her know when Reid and Julio would be landing.

As vital as time was, Reid took a moment to reach out and hug her when she met them in the terminal. Instantly, he knew something was wrong.

_What?! Hotch?_

_I did what you said, Spencer. I told him you were coming and he needed to wait._

_Ana? You're scared! What happened?_

_The…thing…in him. It…__**met**__…me._

Reid wanted details. Most of all, he wanted to hold Ana close and comfort her and apologize for asking her to do something he hadn't known would be so psychically, well, _risky_. But time was as much an enemy as the thing burgeoning into power inside Hotch. They had to move quickly. He sent her a few comforting thoughts and the promise of a long, slow hug later…then they were off and running.

As they sprinted for the parking zone that allowed vehicles a ten minute grace period for drop-offs and pick-ups before incurring a fine, Reid introduced Ana to Julio and vice versa. He noticed that, although Ana murmured a polite 'Pleased to meet you,' the Palero remained silent. Even as they ran, Reid could tell he was staring at her whenever he could spare his glance. And it didn't look like the appreciative regard of male for female.

Reid felt a new kind of uneasiness begin to form. Ana picked up on it and shot him questioning glances. He didn't have an answer. Only more questions of his own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The heavy, pitiless black that surrounded Hotch was changing.

It didn't press as heavily on him. Whatever was shielding him from the things beyond the darkness was beginning to weaken. What awareness he possessed in this suspended state, felt ambivalent towards the change. He yearned desperately for escape, but what he'd glimpsed of the thing…out there…wherever _there_ was…_My own mind! My own mind! Oh, God, my own mind!_...had made him howl with terror.

And the blackness, the total absence of even imaginary illumination was changing, too.

It wasn't exactly getting lighter. It was changing tone.

Something from out _there_ was slowly seeping in. The black was taking on the dark, rusted color of congealed blood.

Hotch felt his fear begin to spike again as he finally accepted the only way to escape _here_ was to leave…to literally go out of his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The old doctor leaned his forehead against his patient's sweat-slicked hair, cinching the trembling body ever closer with arms that never lost their power to comfort.

_Not yet, Aaron. I know it's hard. If you need to fight something, fight to stay…not to escape. You're not alone, child. If you do need to leave, I'll help you do it painlessly. But not yet, Aaron. Not yet._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi could tell things were getting worse.

The doctor had closed his eyes and pulled Hotch even more tightly against himself. Rossi's stomach did a sick, little swirl. The tableau before him looked like nothing so much as a man silently mourning the death of the one he held.

If it weren't for the slight tremors he could see passing through Hotch, he would think life had finally deserted his best friend. But the doctor had told him when the last moments were at hand, he'd be able to grant Rossi the gift of saying goodbye.

Rossi held on to that promise and told himself they still had a little time.

_Not yet, Aaron. Please, not yet._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana drove at breakneck speed.

Watching her aggressive navigation of yellow traffic lights and stop signs, Reid had a new appreciation for Julio's near phobic avoidance of driving. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the Palero rummaging through his luggage, mumbling what sounded like a chant to himself.

"Julio? You okay back there?"

The dark face, shining with nervous perspiration, returned Reid's look. "Fine. I am making a protection." Reid saw the container of yellow beads, similar to those adorning his own wrist.

"If it'll make you feel better, you can have this back." He hooked his fingers beneath the cord on which the beads were strung, preparing to slip them off. Ruiz held up a hand, halting him.

"It's not for me." He gave his head a sharp tilt toward their driver. "Is for her I worry."

Ana depressed the accelerator a little harder, unaware of Julio trying to prevent yellow beads from scattering throughout the rear of the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Millie was ensconced in her rocking chair, enjoying the rapidly falling twilight from the vantage point of her porch, when the car tore into town.

Raising a fantail of dust in its wake, it screeched to a stop before the hospital, not even making the attempt to park properly. Three people leapt from its confines and pelted into the building's front door.

Millie wasn't sure, but she thought one of them had been dark-skinned. She recalled the agent who'd stayed with the group last time. His name had been Morgan, if she remembered correctly. She watched the hospital for a few minutes, but when nothing more of interest occurred, she rose and went inside. Eyes shining, she bustled about preparing another room for occupancy.

She now had _two_ official FBI business cards hanging in her foyer. If all went well, she might have Agent Morgan's before long. With _three_ tokens of her guests' authenticity and the observers who had seen Mr. Rosie…_Dave!_...accepting her luncheon invitation, she was truly at the very pinnacle of society.

Really, it had been the most _wonderful_ day.

And it was getting even better.


	14. Setting the Stage

Rossi heard what sounded like a stampede in the hallway. Despite being audibly forewarned, he startled when Reid, Ana and Julio Ruiz shot through the door.

Ana moved to one side, granting the others freer access to Hotch. She felt that her role from this point on might be a lesser one than Spencer's or the priest's. She suspected her major contribution to this rescue effort had been to instill a tiny fragment of hope in Hotch's fading life force, sustaining him just a little longer. She stood by in case she was needed, concentrating on sending supportive encouragement to Spencer.

Reid's trajectory landed him on his knees by the bedside. The ferocity with which his eyes drank in every detail of his friend's face and body, cataloguing changes since he'd been away, could have rivaled Hotch's best 'wolf-eye' stare. But when he reached out a hand to touch the familiar, beloved face, the doctor's voice echoed in his mind…forceful enough to arrest the impulse.

_NO! You shouldn't touch him. Not yet. There is still much to be done before you try to save him. And I can't afford to split my focus right now. This boy is too close to the edge._

Reid pulled back. _May I speak to him? Tell him I'm here?_

_You shouldn't enter his mind again. Not until you're ready to destroy the thing nesting in him. And, if you succeed,…__**never**__ again after that._

The doctor spared a brief look for Ruiz before returning his attention to Hotch. _Priest, welcome. Can you reverse what your practices have deposited in this boy?_

For his part, Julio stood straight and still. His eyes fixed on doctor and patient.

Ruiz was a powerful man, but he sensed this old physician was privy to a much more ancient force. Julio considered himself nothing more and nothing less than a priest. He viewed himself as a conduit for mystical forces. He never deceived himself with thinking he was their source. He observed, and listened, and guided. He could gather and focus. He could perceive and understand. He had realized at a young age that his perception alone was a unique and extraordinary gift.

At one time he had tried to deny it, push it from him. That had led to some bad choices that produced a terrible, violent chapter in his life. When the path of denial had gone wrong, he'd embraced one of acceptance, grateful for a second chance. A changed Julio had devoted himself to exploring his gifts, and the unseen reality to which they connected. When he needed a framework to cling to during the learning process, it was natural for him to turn to a discipline that spoke to his heritage. Palo Mayombe resonated within him. Its saints and spirits coursed through his blood, making him thrill with knowledge and a joyful sense of possibility.

He had sometimes wondered, if a man lived long enough, would he retain some of the universe's magic? Become more source than conduit? But he'd smiled at his own folly in thinking anyone could be so long-lived. It would take centuries, if it were possible at all.

The man before him now was a revelation.

Julio's eyes brimmed with unaccustomed tears as he heard, for the first time, another's voice speaking precisely, directly to his own mind. He let some of the tears fall when he realized he could answer.

Effortlessly.

_I will do my best. It is why I came._

The elderly man smiled at him and Julio's heart leapt. He would do anything required to help this sage. He would give his own life, if needed, knowing now that such creatures, such powers, truly existed in more than his solitary dreams of faith.

_Your life is not required, priest. But hurry. Time grows short. The thing hurting this child grows strong. And, despite your belief that I am so powerful…I grow weary, too. Prepare yourself…and these others. Hurry._

Julio Ruiz dropped to the floor, tearing open his bag and laying out its contents before him.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi watched as Reid backed away from Hotch's bedside.

When Ruiz spilled all manner of objects onto the floor and began picking among them, accompanying his actions with a low, sonorous chant, Rossi cast a questioning glance at the younger agent. Reid shrugged and shook his head. He had no idea what the Palero was doing and he wasn't going to intrude telepathically. After the doctor's stern injunction against mind-contact with Hotch, Reid felt the most prudent thing would be to restrain himself from _all_ mental communication in Hotch's presence. He even held himself back when he felt Ana's empathic touch, giving her an apologetic look.

_It's alright, Spencer. I understand._ She smiled, although it was a smile touched with sadness and concern for Hotch's predicament. _I'll always understand. No matter what happens._

He squeezed her hand and rested his forehead against her hair…a gesture that at once thanked her and drew on her steadfast presence for strength.

Rossi hadn't been present in Miami when the Palero priest had communed with his saint and warned Reid about the ghosts spoiling his head. Now he watched with mixed feelings as Ruiz sprinkled water in a circle, calling names in a language Rossi couldn't interpret, but which rippled with power nonetheless.

Seeing his superior's wary expression, Reid moved close to Rossi's side, pulling Ana with him.

"I think he's inviting the spirits he believes can help Hotch into the room." Reid whispered, hoping he wouldn't inadvertently distract Julio.

Rossi's fingers touched his chest before he remembered he no longer wore the cross his Italian grandmother had given him, commemorating his confirmation in the Catholic church. A rueful smile accompanied his thought that the outer trappings of religion were just touchstones. The impulse that had made him reach for the absent necklace was the true measure of how deeply ingrained was his faith.

As they watched, Julio's hands began to move with a speed and surety that almost transcended human dexterity. And then they _did_ transcend it. The Palero's eyes closed. Without visual aid, his fingers sped over the array of items he'd brought with him. Beads seemed to fly onto cords of their own volition. Small fabric pouches dispelled their contents and drew different combinations of ingredients into them. Rossi could swear he saw one of them tie itself off at the neck. He swallowed and felt for the absent cross again.

When Ruiz stopped, he was panting. Perspiration gleamed on his skin, giving him the appearance of having been carved from fine-grained obsidian. He braced himself on hands and knees while he caught his breath. When he looked at what he'd assembled from the materials transported from Miami, he nodded to himself.

Without hesitation, he picked up a necklace of assorted charms and dropped it over Ana's head. He surveyed the remaining items and glanced at the doctor, lowering his chin slightly in a mute request for permission. The doctor nodded once. Julio scooped up two heavily, strung bracelets. With gentle reverence, he pulled one of the doctor's hands free from its grip on Hotch's shoulder. He slipped the amulet over it and then patted it back in place. Looking up, he saw the wise, old eyes that watched him crinkle faintly.

_It's alright. This is __**your**__ form of power. These things, these objects, only symbolize. They are not the power itself. If you like metaphors, priest, think of us as two who drink from different wells. No matter what shape the vessel you lower into it to capture the contents…in the end, the water we each drink is the same._

Julio felt a burst of elation. He had always suspected as much, but it was a risky concept…one he avoided discussing because of the controversy it engendered. It was nice to feel this wise man's validation of his own views. _We will work well together, doctor._

The Palero placed the second bracelet on the bed beside Hotch. He trusted he would know the right time to bind it around the agent's wrist. Taking a seat on the bed, he looked closely at the gaunt face. He flexed one hand and pressed it firmly on Hotch's chest, just left of center…over his heart.

When Julio turned toward Reid and extended a hand, the young agent shivered. What looked out of the priest's eyes seemed somehow older…and infinitely stranger…than normal. The hand beckoned. When Reid went to him, Julio stripped off the bracelet of yellow beads with one deft movement. He tossed it out of easy reach, to the far side of the bed. Reid swallowed. His protection was gone. It was time to invite the ghosts home. Julio's hand reached for him again.

"Come. We begin."


	15. The Battle Begins

Reid wasn't sure what to do.

He'd been muffling his own telepathy, scared of worsening Hotch's condition should his thoughts travel along their well-worn path into the Unit Chief's mind. He extended a tentative hand toward that of the Palero and flinched when the priest's fingers wrapped around his. It felt like iron bands circling his hand, trapping it.

The doctor was still sitting with his back against the wall at the head of the bed, Hotch's upper body propped against him. His arms had been encircling his patient. Now he pulled back, transferring his grip to Hotch's shoulders. Reid saw the fingers flex and tighten, holding Hotch with bruising force.

Julio sat on the mattress beside Hotch's extended legs. He was bent forward from the waist, right hand connected to Hotch's chest over his heart. Reid could see he was exerting pressure, his palm flat and firm on the bare skin. Julio's left hand held onto Reid's right. He pulled the young agent forward, bringing him to his knees, onto the floor between the doctor and the priest, his face level with Hotch's.

Reid looked from one to the other, realizing both could probably read how frightened and unsure he felt at the moment. "What do I do?"

The reply came in the sea-deep 'voice' he knew to be the doctor's. _Chemistry is only a part of your brain's activity when it comes to your talent. There is a wealth of individuality. It makes you who and what you are. When you accessed your friend, it was like a key unlocking his mind. A very unique key. The only key that will work to open the path your repeated contact blazed into him. And part of that key's teeth, of your 'signature,' if you will, is the power you encountered when your visions first began, when they were first recognized by another possessing ability. _The doctor's eyes rested on Julio. _All of these elements must be brought together again if you are to recreate the key, unlock the path, and bring the fragments you've left behind back to their rightful home._

Reid felt like a craven coward for uttering his next words, but he trusted the doctor and Julio to understand it was just a question. He was committed to helping Hotch. The answer wouldn't change that, but he needed to know. "What happens to me when…when…the ghosts return?"

_I have never attempted this thing we are about to do, nor have I ever heard of its being done…nor even the necessity of doing it. This is new territory for me. Priest?_

Reid 'heard' a new voice. Smoother, younger than the doctor's. It had a musicality to it and carried its own images of sun-drenched skies interwoven with impressions of something lush and tropical around the edges that Reid couldn't quite identify. It was a beautiful voice. There was no mistaking it for anyone other than Julio Ruiz. _I don't know. I've done my best to make sure you are the only one at the end of the path. Your woman, Ana, is most endangered. The path between you is strong and open. If you had known her before you made connection with __**this**__ man…_Reid caught a quick image of Hotch and realized the Palero had never actually been introduced to his boss…didn't even know his full name…_then your ghosts would have gone to her. She is gifted. She might have been able to handle them better. The necklace she now wears will protect her…_an image of the bracelet worn by the doctor flashed by_…He also is protected._

"What about my other friend, Rossi,…the man standing by Ana?"

_He needs no protection. He has no talents that would attract the ghosts. And you have not entered his mind…made a path into him. He is safest of us all._

"And you?"

Even in his mind, Reid could feel Julio's smile widen. He felt a touch of tolerance akin to that a teacher might feel for a promising student who'd asked an unnecessary question. _I told you last time, when we first met. I no longer need protection._

The doctor's voice took center stage again. _And nor do I, priest. Even less than you. But your powers will channel best when surrounded by the symbols they know. I will wear your talisman for as long as you wish, for as long as it helps you. _A burst of respect and affection passed by Reid. He knew Julio was its target. He'd been worried these two men wouldn't mesh well, but they seemed to occupy complementary, rather than contradictory, positions. He felt Julio's gratitude flash by in return, making its way back to the doctor.

"I still don't know what to do, or what will happen to me." Reid hated how he sounded like a scared child in his own ears.

He was almost overpowered by the comfort and love accompanying the doctor's thoughts. _You __**will**__ know, child. Follow your instincts. They come from the same place that produces your talent. They are the same kind of gift…only more primal, less refined than your telepathy. Trust them. And never forget, I'm here. If I see a way to help you, I will._

_Me, too. I won't leave you._ Julio added his own reassuring touch to the doctor's.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi had rarely felt so useless.

The feeling brought back memories of sitting by Aaron's bedside when he'd been hospitalized after George Foyet's attack. All he could do was watch and hope that by _wanting_ his friend to survive, he was _helping _him survive. He could hear Reid's half of the conversation, but could only guess at the responses from the others. He looked at Ana standing beside him.

When she felt his eyes on her, she glanced up. A quick shake of her head told him she couldn't mentally eavesdrop on the others. They would just have to wait for this to play itself out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana had rarely felt so useless.

She knew Spencer was avoiding telepathic communication. And she knew it was to protect Hotch. She couldn't 'hear' the doctor or the Palero. Their thoughts were meant for Spencer alone.

But she could feel…_everything._

When pulses of reassurance, encouragement and love were directed at Spencer, she felt them, too. But they didn't have much of a salutary effect on her. Because in spite of them, she also felt Spencer's tremendous panic…his dread that he would fail.

And she could feel Hotch. Fading. On the verge of winking out.

Ana reached for Rossi's hand and found it already on its way to her.

xxxxxxxxxxx

The doctor's voice was firm in Reid's mind. _What you see when you cross into your friend will frighten you. If you like, I could…blind…you. Hold the vision away until you have your footing. But you will have to confront the…thing…in the end. Would you like me to do that for you?_

Reid knew it was meant to be helpful, but he was already so scared he couldn't separate the concept of mental 'blindness' from that of being physically blind. It didn't sound like something he wanted…to go unseeing before the enemy.

"No. Thank you." He was suddenly grateful for Julio's crushing grip on his hand. He knew it wouldn't let him slip away. And he realized, now that the moment was here, he actually _did_ know what to do next. He reached his free hand and placed it on Hotch's chest, beside that of the priest. Reid took a deep breath, spared a last, loving thought for Ana…

…and…

…entered…

And the ghosts came slamming home.


	16. In the Land of Blood and Fear

When Spencer Reid was a child, barely four years old, his parents had taken him to a county fair.

It was spring. There was a maypole. Costumed dancers held ends of ribbons which were attached to the top of the pole. As they glided around and among each other, young Spencer watched the brightly colored strands weave into overlapping patterns. He'd broken away from his mother and run to the pole, to the center of the creation. Looking up, he'd felt as though he were enveloped in endlessly shifting stripes. And even as his precocious mind analyzed the mathematics of movement and accomplished its first cognitive leap connecting math to music, his child's eyes had delighted in the sheer spectacle.

It had been magical.

As he stepped into Hotch's mind, it was as if that memory had been exhumed and exposed. Only this time, instead of a dance celebrating life and regeneration, it was a twisting, whirling thing of horror. Reid almost wished he'd let the doctor blind him. But it was too late. He saw.

He would always mourn the perversion of that childhood memory. He had so few that were happy. Now…one less.

xxxxxxxxxxx

There was a moment of silence before it hit.

Reid had a few seconds to register the cushioned, bloody confines of the space. He thought of a womb's padded interior. Considering he was inside Hotch's mind, he tried _not_ to think of a hollowed skull, segments of wet brain still adhering to its walls…but most of it shredded, eaten away.

Then the maypole dance began.

Spongy strips ranging in hue from black to rust waved and wove. Reid realized they were the colors blood acquired as it progressed from fresh liquid to a congealed mass. Although he knew his presence was exclusively mental, his body could still feel physical sensations. He flinched as something sharp scraped across his arm. Turning, he saw the strips were studded with teeth and eyes. A wave of nausea swept over him as his eidetic memory matched the eyes to victims he'd encountered on cases. Their glassy, dead regard still managed to project hate…accusation. _Why didn't you save us? You came too late…too late…too late…_ They called to his guilt, his regret. When he recognized the eyes of murdered Sarah, Ana's little sister, he faltered. Hers joined with the others, summoning every destructive impulse harbored in his soul, secretly preserved for private moments of self-loathing. _You don't deserve life. It's our turn. You owe us. Give…give…give…_

And then Reid raised his head and looked up. And realized _he_ was the maypole. The flailing strips were weaving him a shroud. One of them whipped across his face, its teeth slashing his eyes.

He was blind.

He was almost grateful.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi and Ana watched. Hands gripped together as though they would melt into one.

All three men…the doctor, Reid, and Julio Ruiz…were rock still, rock steady, heads bowed. Central to their grouping, Hotch's body trembled, sweat dewing his forehead.

"I wish we could do something." Rossi's voice was low, reluctant to intrude on the palpable concentration surrounding the group attending his best friend.

"Me, too." Ana wasn't sure how much more she could stand. The depth of negative emotions emanating from Spencer was growing.

She couldn't help what happened next. It was instinctive. It was unstoppable.

It was love.

She sagged against Rossi as her empathic mind went in search of Spencer. At the last moment, Rossi thought he heard her whisper.

"Where you go, I go too…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was blind. And he hurt. And fear, loathing, sorrow, anger…all threatened to submerge him in a soup brewed from his own past, his own insecurities.

He felt the pulse of her warmth…so fragile…so precious…before he heard her.

_Where you go, I go too…_

_ANA! NO! GO BACK!_

_Spencer, I belong here. I belong by your side._

_NO!_

_These are your ghosts. Not mine. I refuse them._

And incredibly, Reid felt the pressure of the shroud lessen. It wasn't much. But it was enough to make a difference. It was enough to plant a grain of hope where none had been before. She felt the change in him and latched onto it. Bolstering it. Strengthening it.

_The doctor couldn't tell me. I had to figure it out on my own. This is my __**true**__ gift, Spencer. I can give hope._

He felt her elation at the discovery. Such a strange emotion in this place stinking of discouragement and defeat. He couldn't answer her. Every fiber, every atom of his being was engaged in battle. The difference was, now he believed he had a chance…Hotch had a chance.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi lowered Ana into a chair.

A quick inventory of her pulse and respiration quieted his fears. She seemed to have fainted, but, knowing the sheer volume of psychic activity occurring around them, he had a feeling it was much more involved than that.

He glanced at the doctor. The closed eyes slitted open just enough for Rossi to know he was being observed. The bowed head dipped once before the eyes were once again lidded.

Rossi took it as a sign that he shouldn't worry about Ana. Not yet anyway.

Not when there were so many other things to worry about.

He knelt beside the chair and resumed holding her hand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid struggled to retain his footing.

The ribbon-things were slapping at him, but their rhythm was off. They weren't weaving anything of symmetry and power anymore. And when their teeth grazed across him, they were blunted…no longer scalpel-sharp.

He groped before him. When his hands fastened on the slimy texture of the shroud cloth, he swallowed his revulsion and…_tore_. Again and again he dug his fingers into it, feeling it squelch and slither. Each time he ripped through, loose strands doubled back on him, trying to wrap around his throat, trying to enter his mouth and descend into him. He spat and tore and fought, always aware that Ana's small, soft gift of hope still survived. She was keeping it safe for him.

Time ended. There was no sense of it either passing swiftly or slowing to a tortuous pace. There was nothing but the blindness and the place and Reid and an echo of Ana's words. _Where you go, I go too._

And then there was something else.

A scream. A scream from a voice that seemed to have known nothing else, to never have lifted itself in laughter or song. With a sick twist deep in his gut, Reid recognized it as Aaron Hotchner's.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch's subconscious knew it had to do something.

And the only way to stop the feeling of paralysis and the terror was to leave. Nonexistence would be so much better than remaining.

The black, protective pressure that had been keeping him down, shielding him, was weakening. He could feel it. He gathered himself for one final attempt to escape. He found what felt like a thin spot in the barrier, and began pushing. What he lacked in strength, he tried to compensate for with persistence.

It felt like some sort of primal birth…forcing his way through something wet and slippery and so very, very resistant. When he felt the pressure lessen, he scrabbled, frantic to break through.

His success stunned him. He was out from under the heaviness that had imprisoned him. Panting, exhausted, he opened eyes that were almost caked shut with some spongy, wet substance. He rubbed the stuff from his lids. And looked.

And screamed.

A thing shrouded in bloody fragments, sprouting teeth and dead eyes struggled toward him.

_This is my mind. This is inside my mind. Oh, God, my mind…_

Hotch screamed as though he'd known nothing else.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid stumbled and groped his way toward that long wail of terror.

He opened his mouth to call Hotch's name, to let him know he wasn't alone…

…and the fleshy ribbons found their entry. They poured and tumbled and writhed their way into Reid. Unstoppable.

The ghosts came slamming home.


	17. Severed Connections

Hotch screamed.

The creature wrapped in writhing ribbons of flesh, studded with teeth of the dead and eyes of the dead, swayed closer. The eyes blinked, focused their glassy regard on him… _saw_ him and knew him and wanted him.

Hotch knew he wasn't strong enough to escape. The only way out was mental. He wanted madness. Quick, merciful madness that would erase him and let him be…gone.

He closed his eyes. His scream descended to a whimper.

But instead of madness, there was sound. The same sound over and over and overlapping. Squelching, liquid movements. They crescendoed. He squeezed his eyes tighter, feeling like his six-year-old self who had wanted to believe that if he couldn't see monsters, then monsters couldn't see him. The sound was so close. He cringed and knew he would feel its touch in the next heartbeat. He knew it would be what pushed him over the edge. In the end, Hotch's alpha nature took its last stand. He _would_ have a say in his fate. He _would_ exert a measure of control. Even if it was to hasten the loss of his sanity. The sound was changing. It was sucking, rapid-running liquid. He assumed it was in anticipation of devouring the last vestiges of his mind. _I control this last moment of awareness._

Hotch reached his hand out toward the thing. _End it. Take me._

And heard a loud, sudden gurgling. Deep beneath his terror he recognized the sound of a drain unclogging, of viscous lumps and liquid being sucked down. _This is it. Take me._ He reached further.

_I control this moment…my last…_

Silence.

Sudden.

He heard the pause before the pounce…

His fingers met what they sought. He touched…

xxxxxxxxxxx

Reid couldn't stop the bloody, spongy ribbons from entering him. He knew the appearance of fleshy strips, of teeth, of eyes was only a metaphor for the ghosts…concocted in his own mind. Still, as he swallowed and absorbed it, he felt his gorge rising. Even as he struggled to keep moving forward, to reach the source of that terrible scream, to reach Hotch, he understood he'd taken back possession of some of the most destructive parts of his experiences with the BAU.

He fell to his knees and let the process complete itself. _After all, this is why I came. These are mine, not Hotch's._ He felt gelid lumps slide down his throat and knew they were the memories of all those lifeless eyes, accusing him of failing to save them, pleading for one more moment of existence, for one more chance to see, for a miracle…

_NOT your fault, Spencer. This guilt, this blame belongs to others…to murderers…NOT you._ He shivered as he recognized Ana's steadfast presence…a tiny thrill of love and light that was so alien to this place. So fragile. And so powerful.

He controlled the urge to vomit with small, convulsive swallows. The last of the things flapped and gurgled its way down into him.

Then there was silence.

Almost.

He could hear labored breathing. He didn't know if it was his or Hotch's. But the small, miserable whimper…_that_ he knew. It was human. And frightened. And beloved.

Blind Reid crawled forward. He extended his hand and his fingers met…

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi could tell something was happening. Maybe 'happening' wasn't quite accurate. Something was _changing_.

Uninvolved as he was in this world of psychics and metaphysical magic, deep in his marrow he felt it nonetheless. He reminded himself not to squeeze Ana's hand too tightly. The bones felt fragile, bird-like in his grip. She stirred, but didn't waken.

The group around Hotch shifted, each in his own way.

Reid bent forward, lower to the ground. For a moment Rossi thought he was choking on something, but it passed quickly. Julio Ruiz's hand pressed harder against Hotch's chest. The elderly doctor's lips barely moved, but Rossi could swear they were hosting a faint, cryptic smile.

That alone sent a thrill of hope cascading through him.

And then there was Hotch. He was panting, his chest expanding and contracting in rapid, rhythmic cadence, despite the pressure exerted on it by Reid's and Julio's hands.

Rossi felt his own breathing quicken in sympathy.

There was nothing to do, but wait.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

…their fingers met.

Reid heard the small whine that Hotch tried to stifle in the back of his throat. He could feel his friend's terror, but underlying it was something so solid and concrete, it brought tears of pride and respect to Reid's blind eyes.

It was Hotch's courage; his bone-deep bravery. Feeling it with his gifted senses, Reid knew that even at the extreme moment of obliteration, Hotch had fought. More terrified than this man, or any man, was ever meant to be, he had still fought. And _still_ clung to a stubborn determination to move forward, to reach out his hand, and meet his fate. Unable to stop it from taking him, Hotch would not go quietly. Reid could hear the echo of what would have been his friend's last words: _You've taken the best of me…now come take the rest of me…and be damned…_

Reid twined his fingers through Hotch's. A tremor ran through them. Reid felt the shock of disbelief…the sheer amazement at sudden reprieve robbing Hotch of breath.

And then it robbed him of the remnants of his iron control as well. Hotch sobbed.

Reid pulled himself forward and felt his way across Hotch's shoulders, pulling him closer into as much of a hug as he could manage.

_Hotch? I'm here, Hotch. I'm here. I'm holding you and you're safe._

Relief overwhelmed him when his friend responded.

_Reid! Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me._

He wanted nothing more than to stay and comfort Hotch, but there was more required of him. He could feel the watchful regard of the old doctor, waiting to see if this young telepath was strong enough and had enough integrity to complete his mission.

_I can't stay, Hotch. I have to go._

_But you'll come back? You won't leave me alone?_

_I can't come back. Ever. _He felt Hotch's shudder of apprehension. _None of this would have happened to you if I'd left you alone from the start. But I didn't know any better. I have to leave now and I have to leave forever._

_What does that mean?_

_Just that I won't be able to…touch you like this…in your mind. You were meant to be alone. Or at least, you weren't meant for __**my**__ company. _Reid could feel the ghosts within him, newly returned to their native land, beginning to work on him. _I think you'll be alright now, but I have to go. Hotch…I'll miss you…Hotch, I love you…_

_Reid? REID! I don't want to be alone!_

A tiny puff of sweetness and warmth pressed on him, like a feathery kiss.

_Don't worry, Aaron. Spencer can't come back, but maybe I can._

It was Ana's voice, delivering the gift that she now knew was hers to bestow.

Hope.

Hotch realized in the wake of Reid's complete absence, that for nearly a year he'd become accustomed to the young agent's faint, phantom presence in his mind. Reid left…and took his ghosts…and severed the bond between them.

Hotch had never felt quite so empty. So bereft.

The worst part was thinking that Reid might be right: that Aaron Hotchner was meant to be so utterly alone.


	18. Blood Vision

After so many hours of idleness…after so much time spent watching Hotch, quiescent in the doctor's arms…after watching everyone else in the room, whether as observer or participant, disappear into some psychic space he couldn't access,…Rossi hardly knew where to look first when the stillness broke. The five people around him were active again. _Whatever it was…it's over!_

Ana's movements claimed his attention first.

She pulled her hand from his, straightening in the chair…no longer a limp body that needed support. Before he could ask her if she was alright, she bolted to Reid's side.

The next to draw Rossi's focus was Julio Ruiz.

With one hand, the Palero kept a tight grip on Reid. With the other, the one that had been pressed against Hotch's chest, he reached across the bed to where he'd tossed the yellow bracelet. He scooped it up and slipped it back onto Reid's wrist with deft efficiency, muttering low, unfamiliar words that Rossi suspected were instrumental in endowing the beads with their protective charms. As soon as the bracelet was secure, Julio picked up the new one he'd made and had set beside Hotch in readiness for this moment. He cast an inquiring look at the doctor. When the old man nodded, Ruiz fastened it around Hotch's wrist.

Rossi's eyes went next to Aaron. And stayed there.

Hotch coughed. His eyes opened, darting from side to side as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings and the people hemming him in. When he looked straight up from where he lay, he could see the doctor's elderly face, hovering over him, looking down at him with a gentle smile that slowly widened.

The doctor loosened his hold on Hotch's shoulders, letting his large, capable hands give them a last, comforting squeeze. "I already know the answer, but it would be good to hear your voice, child. How do you feel?"

Hotch blinked, unable to look away from the eyes that held so much understanding, so much compassion. "I…I…" He couldn't finish. He curled onto his side, into the doctor, his back to the room; a silent plea to be held just a little longer.

The doctor nodded at Rossi. "You can have him now."

Rossi knew his thoughts and emotions were probably as easily readable to this man as the top letter on an optometrist's eye chart. He'd been wanting to hold Aaron…almost jealous of the doctor's ability to give solace and sustenance. He lost no time in stepping around the others and taking the doctor's place.

Pulling Hotch close, Rossi let his friend bury his face against his midriff. With a wave of affectionate amusement, he thought about how Hotch always wanted to hide when he felt weak, yet, as a leader, he was so forgiving and accepting of the trait in others. Rossi was glad to take on the role of Aaron's hiding place. As Hotch nestled closer, still unable to stop trembling, Rossi gave in to his paternal instinct. He rocked slightly, rubbing his hands along the back of this man he'd feared lost.

"It's alright, Aaron. Everything's alright now. I'm here. You're safe."

Privately, Rossi wasn't absolutely sure. He vowed to himself to have a talk with the doctor about any residual side effects of _whatever_ this strange experience had been. But in the meantime, he was just happy to hold his friend. When Hotch made a move to sit up, Rossi's hands on his back pressed him down. "Not yet, Aaron. I thought we'd lost you. You have to let me hold you for a little longer."

"Dave…"

Rossi heard…and felt…a tremendous growl roil through Hotch's stomach. He chuckled…grateful to think of sharing a meal when only moments ago it had seemed such mundane pleasures would never happen again. "You must be starving." He continued rocking, reassuring himself of Hotch's living presence. A mischievous grin spread across his lips.

"There's a B&B just down the street. I'm thinking the proprietress would be willing to whip you up just about anything you want." After a few more minutes had passed, "By the way, Aaron…do you happen to have any of your business cards on you?"

Rossi was sure Millie would love the idea of feeding a recuperating FBI agent. And if he could get Hotch to give her one of his cards, she'd probably forget all about 'Mr. Rosie' in favor of the matinee-idol handsome Aaron.

_Poor guy. He's been through a lot...I shouldn't…_ But the mental picture of Millie lavishing care on his friend was just so tempting…

"Dave…" Hotch made an abortive attempt to sit up again. And, again, Rossi pressed him down.

"Not yet, Aaron. You're still shaking."

"Dave, how long have I been here?"

"Only about a day-and-a-half…and the night in between. Not that long."

Hotch tried to sit up again, and this time he resisted Rossi's control.

"Dave! I _really_ have to go to the bathroom."

Rossi let him up.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Reid didn't move.

On some level he knew that Hotch was back, was alright. That _everyone_ was alright…or at least present and accounted for. He wasn't so sure about himself. So he gave himself permission to be the center of his own attention.

He stayed bent over. He could sense Ana beside him, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut. He felt a faint nausea that surprised him. He hadn't felt sick after telepathically accessing another's mind for a while. The unpleasant sensation was reminiscent of his early forays into mental contact.

_I thought I was over that…had moved past it._ His stomach lurched. _Guess not. Maybe it's part of what I gave away with my memories…my ghosts._ He tamped down the flare of guilt at the thought that this feeling was probably something Hotch had been living with on a daily basis since becoming the repository for…for…_for my mental trash…my leavings._

But worst of all…_far_ worse than fatigue or horror or nausea…was the headache.

It ravaged its way through his brain with an intensity that scared him. It was almost as though he could feel the convolutions and crenellations of gray matter writhing in agony within his skull. _Maybe the pain is cumulative. Maybe if I'd experienced it in its original timeline…in installments as each memory was acquired…it wouldn't be so bad. But I'm getting it all back at once._

He could feel hands on his back and knew the others were concerned. But he couldn't move or speak to reassure them. A soft touch on his cheek was definitely Ana's. If she was trying to reach his mind, he couldn't hear her beyond the pounding of the pain.

There were colors behind his closed lids. Black and red and rust melded and flashed in rhythms tied to the throbbing. The colors were an uncomfortable reminder of the spongy ribbons of flesh he'd ingested as part of reclaiming his ghosts. It was that connection, the recollection of the horrors he'd seen in Hotch, that made Reid want to open his eyes…to banish the images, replace them with _anything_ else. But he remembered how painful light was when the headaches gripped him. Still…_anything_ would be better than the colors and hues of spilled blood filling, bathing, immersing his inner vision.

Bracing himself for the agonizing assault of light, Reid cracked his eyelids just a fraction.

Then he opened them wide.

He was blind.

Except for the colors of phantom blood, he was blind.


	19. Hidden Gifts

Rossi watched Hotch make a shaky way off the bed and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. His joy at having his best friend back and apparently functioning normally was eclipsed when he heard the anxiety in Ana's voice.

"Spencer? Spencer! Talk to me! What's wrong?"

Rossi turned to see Reid still kneeling on the floor. He hadn't moved any appreciable distance since the rescue, or whatever Hotch's reclamation could be called, had ended. Now he was leaning over, torso almost parallel to the ground. Ana knelt beside him, one hand on his back, one held against his side as she, too, leaned low, trying to see into his face. Julio Ruiz was on the bed at Reid's other side. His concerned frown as his eyes tracked Ana's efforts started the formation of a small, hard ball of anxiety in Rossi's stomach.

But what worried him most was the reaction of the oldest and wisest among them. The doctor stood to one side, where he had moved to allow Rossi room to reach Hotch. He watched the scene before him with immeasurable sadness. The very sight of the misery in his eyes threatened to bring tears to Rossi's…even though he had no idea what it meant…or why it was there. When the doctor lowered his head, closed his eyes and sighed, Rossi was sure some new tragedy wasn't just waiting in the wings.

It had arrived.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Reid blinked and shook his head, hoping that was all it would take to clear his vision.

The movement was a big mistake. It caused the pain in his head to slosh from side to side, producing waves of agony that made him think his brain had turned to slow-moving lava and was melting the inside of his skull.

He moaned and bent lower; forehead almost touching the floor.

Spencer Reid's brain didn't work the way most people's did. It was almost impossible for him to stop it from pursuing dozens, sometimes hundreds, of trains of thought simultaneously, and at explosive speed. He'd never known the mental, background, white noise that disrupts concentration, that unfocuses and distracts. Reid's thoughts flew along a multitude of trajectories, each one reaching a logical, perfect conclusion. Each conclusion catalogued and filed in his equally perfect memory.

So, as he covered his face, rubbing his sightless eyes, trying to grind away the blindness and pain with the heels of his hands, his brain was sifting through a gargantuan amount of medical data. At the same time he was wondering how Hotch was. And where Ana was…why he couldn't hear her thoughts, feel her presence. And most of all, if his condition was permanent.

How long would it take to learn braille? How would he earn a living? Would he be shuffled into a desk job or would the FBI pension him off? How else would his life have to change? Who would stay by his side? How long would it take to adjust?

He arrested the deluge of questions and choked off their source when he realized they all assumed the worst possible outcome. _And if there's one thing I learned just now, from what Hotch thought was his last stand…it's that you should __**never**__ give up before you're defeated. __**Never**__ assume you'll lose._

None of the extensive medical research he'd read as a sort of hobby covered anything relating loss of vision to telepathic journeying in another's mind. He almost laughed at the absurdly unique niche he'd occupy if his case were to be studied. Having almost become a captive lab rat a year ago, a slightly hysterical part of his mind giggled that, if the opportunity kept presenting itself, _maybe it was his destiny._

When hands wrapped around him and lifted him, the motion set off more skyrockets in his head. Flares, flashes and starbursts of hellish agony erupted across his dark red, inner vision. With supreme effort he focused on one of the trains of thought shooting through his tortured mind.

_If I were truly blind, I wouldn't see these colors…these differentiations in hue and pattern. This is something else. It __**has**__ to be…_

The possibility that his eyes and optic nerves might not be irreparably damaged comforted him.

It gave him…hope.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What's wrong with him!?" Ana was frantic as Julio and Rossi raised Spencer and sat him on the side of the bed. It didn't change his posture much. He was still bent forward, fingers massaging his throbbing temples.

Hotch emerged from the bathroom in time to see her wrap her arms around Reid and bury her head against his shoulder. "I can't reach him…I can't reach him…" Her words trailed off into misery that spoke of an aching loneliness. She'd been cut off from the mental touch that had become part of her, part of who she was. The sudden isolation was devastating.

Hotch knew just how she felt.

"What's going on?" He stepped around to join Rossi and Julio, standing before Reid's bent head.

"I don't know." Rossi glanced at Hotch, feeling a little angry at whatever power decided to restore one friend and immediately deprive him of another.

"Not good. So not good." Julio's fingers touched the beaded necklace he wore as though they could give him an answer to Reid's dilemma.

Hotch looked at the beads encircling his own wrist. He wasn't a jewelry kind of guy. He reached beneath the cord and began to slip them off.

"**NO!**" Ruiz grabbed him and pulled his hand away. "You _must_ wear the charms so my orisha, my saint, will know how to find you." When he saw the confused skepticism in the Unit Chief's eyes, the Palero elaborated. "Your friend…" he nodded toward groaning Reid "…he cleaned you out. But you _must_ wear the charms until your own barriers have healed. Especially around _him_." He jerked his chin at Reid again.

Hotch still didn't really understand, nor did he know how this man he recalled from a Miami case over a year ago had come to be part of their group. Or why. But he decided the time for in-depth questioning would be later…after they figured out what was troubling Reid, and how to help him.

"Can't _you_ help him?" Ana's eyes were full as she addressed the old doctor. Her desperation made the question sound overly aggressive.

_My help would only be temporary, young empath. It saddens and disturbs me to see this…to see so much happen, in such rapid succession, to one so new to his powers. But the only lasting answer to his pain is not mine to give._

_**Please!**__ Please don't go all sensei master on us! Not now! Please!_ Ana felt her thoughts were shouting within her own mind. She hoped the doctor could tell she was begging. That she'd do anything, if only he'd tell her what was needed.

_Calm yourself, empath. I do understand. I do see the unity between you and your telepath._ He gave her a sad smile. _Only you can solve this riddle._

Ana stifled a desire to lash out. _Any_ smile in this situation, even a sad one, felt like something depraved, like _enjoyment_ of Spencer's agony. She was furious. She tried to cloak her thoughts, to keep them to herself, although she was sure this strange, ancient man would be able to breach any shield she could produce. And then she looked at Spencer again and didn't care about something as trivial as privacy. Or rage.

She took a deep breath and did as advised. She calmed herself.

_I don't know what you are, doctor, but I know you're feeling everything, watching everything. Every thought around you. Every emotion. So you know how much I love him. All I ask is that you continue to watch. If I get it wrong, don't let me hurt him more. Please?_

A wave of warmth and reassurance accompanied the answer. _Empath, you have more power over this young man than I ever will. Use it._

As the others stood helpless, Ana glued herself as closely as she could to Spencer's side. Burying her face against his neck, she closed her eyes. She blocked out the rest of the room. She blocked out Rossi and Hotch and Ruiz. She blocked out all sound and scent and sight. Until she was the only thing left in her own awareness. And there, at the very core of her being…at the center of her unchangeable essence, she found what she'd thought was missing. She found a reflection of Spencer…the part of him that he had given to her without even being aware of the gift.

_Gift? Gift!_

She reached from the center of herself, of all that she was…all her pain and all her potential…and when she turned outward from that deep place, he was there.

And she saw the tiny spark in him.

She recognized hope.

Ana knew what to do.


	20. Listening to the Lost

_Once upon a time…_

Ana heard it echoing all around her, but she wouldn't be distracted. She solidified her position, making sure her mental footing was solid, struggling to make her view of what she thought was Spencer fixed and steady.

_Once upon a time…_

It was trying to intrude on her concentration. She was sure of it. But any attention she paid it would be focus stolen from Spencer. She could see a reflection of the spark from the center of her deepest self. A bright aqua, scintillating flash flickering at her through banks and columns of drifting, misty gray.

_Once upon a time…_

She ignored the sound. If she could just bring that green-blue speck of light into sharper focus, she was sure she could reach him; could find the fire in him that matched the fire in her; could fan it to brighter, hotter life the way she could always bolster and strengthen him. And once that was done, she was positive that together they could find a way out of Spencer's pain and blindness.

_Once upon a time there was a water sprite…_

Ana froze. She knew that voice. And that story. With a sinking heart, she knew she couldn't turn away from it. Yet, if she took her steady regard from the spark that must be Spencer, she might lose him. But that voice, that impossible, wonderful voice.

_Once upon a time there was a water sprite, loved by the god of the sea…_

Ana was torn. She could keep sight of the man she loved…

…or she could listen to the lost voice of Sarah, her murdered sister.

She couldn't do both. Whichever she chose, she would mourn the loss of the other. Filled with anguish, she answered the call of blood to blood, of kin to kin. She closed her eyes and let the flicker of the light matching her own inner spark… _Spencer's light!..._ disappear so that Sarah's voice might grow clearer.

_Once upon a time there was a water sprite, loved by the god of the sea. She was beautiful and her name was…was…What was her name, Annie?_

It was five-year-old Sarah, trying to remember the story Big Sister had read to her from a book of ancient myths. The tale of Scylla, who had bathed in water poisoned by a jealous sorceress, and been transformed into a hideous, deadly monster.

Ana smiled in remembrance of Sarah's childhood, even as her heart contracted in pain for Sarah's loss. Despite knowing she was in some ethereal, mental otherworld, Ana was certain those standing by her in the hospital room were seeing inexplicable tears run down her face.

_Sarah, Sarah, Sarah…it can't be you. It can't._

_Why not?_

It was difficult even to think the reply. _Because you're dead, Sarah. You died. You're gone. You can't be here._

The voice that answered was still Sarah's, but older. Much older. The voice of an adolescent. Sarah's last voice. The voice she'd died with. The voice that had begged her killer to release her. In vain.

_Does that mean I'm a ghost, Annie?_

_I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if I believe in ghosts. You can't be real. You can't._

_Like the ghosts in Spencer's head? They're not real? They can't be?_

A chill touched every fiber of Ana's being. She couldn't speak or think, but her empathic sense picked up a burst of apologetic affection. It surrounded her like a hug and then dispersed as Sarah's voice continued.

_I like him, Annie. He's cute. He's perfect for you. I wish I'd found…_The voice trailed off into a cloud of regret for never having had the chance to know the kind of love Ana and Spencer shared.

Ana pulled herself back from icy shock. _Sarah, are you trying to tell me something? Because if you're not, as much as I love you, I have to go. Spencer needs me. I was looking for him. I could almost see him when…when I heard you and…I'm sorry, Sarah, but I have to go._

_That wasn't him, Annie._

_?_

_That was me._

_But…how? Why? No! I saw the spark that I know has something to do with hope and…and…that's what I'm good at, Sarah! I can see it and make it stronger!_

_That was me._

_If that wasn't Spencer, if I'm not in Spencer's mind, where am I?_

_Someplace where we can talk._

_Then what I saw…that greenish-bluish spark…it's __**not**__ hope?_

Ana heard Sarah's familiar laugh. So light and happy and musical, but so alien to this place and these circumstances.

_It's still hope. Just because I'm a ghost, if that's what you want to call it, doesn't mean I'm completely wiped out of existence. You should know that, after what Spencer's been through…is __**still **__going through. The thing about hope,…it doesn't die. Ever. And every ghost has two sides…at least two. Do you know one of the worst moments for Spencer was when he saw __**my**__ eyes? That's how his ghosts appeared: as cadaver eyes and teeth. Embedded in torn strips of flesh._

Ana felt sick at the idea. Especially when she remembered Sarah's eyes, colored like her own.

_He saw the worst part. You see the best. And you felt the kinship, the reflection. Because it's in you, too. It's in everyone…you…Spencer. And me. Even me._

_Oh, God, Sarah, I don't know what to do. Or how._ Ana's mental voice was tight with frustration.

_I'm not sure either, but I think you're supposed to teach him to see. To see what you do as well as what he already does. Both sides. Best and worst. I'm not sure, but I think if you can teach him to see that, then he'll see…everything._

_How do you know this stuff, Sarah?_

_He told me._

_Who?_

_Him. _But the image Sarah tried to project was fuzzy. Ana couldn't make it out. And as much as she wanted to ask more questions, or simply stay and bask in her sister's presence, part of her knew Spencer was suffering and scared and, unless she went to him, completely alone.

_It's okay, Annie. I understand. _The voice was strong, encouraging. But now it descended into the sadness of someone unimaginably distant from those she loved. _I miss you._

_Sarah, can we talk again?_

_I don't think so. __**He's**__ helping me right now. I'm not sure I could do this on my own._ The voice brightened. _But maybe someday I'll learn how. _Before it faded away entirely, it left behind a joyous, little trill of amazement. _Isn't it cool how I'm still learning stuff?_

Ana bit her lip to keep from sobbing. That was Sarah all over. Everything was 'cool.'

She took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes. The spark was gone. If it had been Sarah, she had left. If it had been Spencer, she'd lost him. Again.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"Shouldn't we do something?" Hotch didn't feel quite up to par, but it was disturbing to just stand and watch Ana plastered against Reid's side, tears forming from beneath her closed lids regularly and often.

"Like what?" Rossi rubbed a soothing hand across his friend's back. As much as he hated standing around feeling useless, he had to admit this wasn't his world. This land of mental visions and psychic journeys was frightening, exhilarating and humbling. He was an extraordinarily capable man in his own venue. Here…he was dead weight. Except when it came to Aaron. At least he could look after Aaron, who clearly still needed looking after. He was pale, a little shaky, and his voice didn't have its normal strong timbre.

Julio Ruiz glanced at the two agents. "You are no good here." He looked Hotch up and down. "And _you_ should lose no time in rebuilding yourself, your barriers against…" He pointed his chin at the couple sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching each other. "…their kind. Go. Eat something. Rest. Get your mind away from this."

Hotch bristled, but reminded himself he didn't know what was going on here. And something told him he might be in debt to the Palero priest. He fingered the beads circling his wrist, but left them intact. Still, after all he and Reid had been through together, he wasn't about to walk away.

"I'll stay." But he didn't object when Rossi pulled a chair closer and pushed him down into it.

The old doctor leaned against a wall on the opposite side of the room. His eyes were closed. When Rossi had glanced his way, he'd thought the elderly physician was resting after his long ordeal with Hotch.

He hadn't noticed the tiny movements which would lead one to believe the doctor was listening to…something. Nor did he catch the faint, subtle smile that appeared and faded.

And, of course, none of the others 'heard' him, heard his words of private communication to the girl who'd volunteered to help.

_Well done, ghost-child._


	21. Halves Divided

Reid knew he had to do something. He couldn't just cower under the pain and the dreadful fear that he might have permanently lost his sight. The problem was, there wasn't much that he _could_ do. At least, not physically. He clutched his throbbing head and told himself to _think_.

_Come __**on**__, Reid! Physical activity's never been your first choice when it comes to problem solving. Think! Even if it hurts…think!_

As bad as it was, the first shock of agony was passing. Well, maybe not _passing,_ but becoming a part of him, like a new installation in a gallery of exhibits. _And here we have our latest addition, ladies and gentlemen: Spencer Reid's endless pain and loss…step right up!..._

Reid had always marveled at how adaptable humans could be. One could acclimate to terrible odors by taking a few deep breaths. Tender skin could become calloused and accommodate itself to any number of irritants. Grief and loss could be dealt with by allowing the passage of time to blunt the pain.

Unless you were possessed of an eidetic memory. Then, no matter how much time passed, edges weren't dulled. They remained as sharp and cutting as the day grief and loss honed them. And when the passage of time didn't help, you had to help yourself by…

_C'mon, Reid! The first thing you do when you're overwhelmed, when it's just too much and no one can help, when you're on your own…__**C'mon!**_

And adult Reid remembered the first time he'd learned, on his own, how to compartmentalize. When the world was too much for a seven-year-old child and no one understood how gifted he was. When no one realized how, because of that gift, everything hurt this child so much _more_ than the same experiences hurt the other, less-gifted children.

When parents left, and schoolmates bullied, and friends…weren't.

That was when little Spencer would sit by himself where no one could find him and would take each hurtful, painful thorn plunged into his young side, pluck it out, examine it, and place it in a box in his mind. To be saved like a terrible treasure. To be re-examined at a later date.

To be used as building blocks that would form the foundation of how he saw himself.

And as the thorns accumulated Spencer even adapted to the thought that this was how his life would be. Lonely and painful and misunderstood. He thought of himself as a castaway like Robinson Crusoe. It was just that the desert island where he was lost, happened to include all of humanity.

Adult, grown-up Spencer hadn't changed all that much in terms of survival skills. He just got very, very good at putting pain in boxes and stacking them ever deeper where he was sure no one would ever be able to look. And with a mind as spacious and open as his, there was always room for more.

So now, huddled on the bed with his head buried in his hands, Reid began pulling thorns.

Each set of teeth, each set of eyes the ghosts had worn to taunt and torture, he pulled close, remembered in detail, and then consigned to a box deep within his soul. With each set he stored away, the pain diminished, but he knew it was still within him…could burst forth at any time, if he didn't keep his mental boxes strong…his storage space in order.

It was working. He was starting to believe that he could succeed.

And then he saw dead Sarah's eyes. The arctic blue that mirrored Ana's. And he could feel _all_ the boxes, not just the recently stored, begin to tremble, lids threatening to fly open, the contents threatening to burst forth.

And Reid knew, if that happened, he'd never survive the onslaught.

In the presence of Sarah's eyes, he whimpered miserably…_Oh, God, Ana…I need you to help me through this…Where __**are**__ you?!_

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana surveyed the murky grayness surrounding her as it twisted and formed vague shapes, like mist sculpted by a night breeze.

The shock of having encountered Sarah's presence was already fading. In its place she felt the comforting assurance that some things _did_ last, _did_ survive even the most terrible, final obliteration. She chose to hug the experience to her and store it away for a later time when she could pull it forth and examine it…savor it.

Throughout her childhood, Ana had developed her own sort of survival strategy. Actually, she had more than one. But the one she favored and chose to use most often was the one she accessed now. Whenever something marvelous happened, whether it was as small as catching a glimpse of a butterfly with rainbow-hued wings, or as large as feeling accepted by the peer groups of her childhood, Ana stored the joyful moment away. It didn't matter that the acceptance was false…that the other children knew with their child's sense of truth that little Ana was _different_, not like the rest…the _normal_ ones…_us._ It didn't matter that the acceptance would be followed by the cruel treachery of little girls who befriended in order to learn secrets they would later use to humiliate and jeer at strange, otherworldly Ana.

Ana kept the best part. Stored it away and used it to counter the inevitable pain she knew was waiting for her.

She understood that, even though her tormenters were false-hearted, the joy she'd feel at first was very, very real. And that was what she'd keep. And that was what she used to form the building blocks of her own foundation. She was a little girl who lived in perpetual hope of joy. Because some day she trusted it would be real _and_ lasting.

When she'd found Spencer, she'd been grateful to the depths of her soul. But not all that surprised. Because she was formed of hope and happy expectation. And even if, somehow, everything went awry, the experience of loving Spencer would occupy the biggest, hugest box in which she stored the best parts of her life, the best parts of her.

So now, as Ana packed away her conversation with Sarah in a box of amazed joy, she thought of her sister's beautiful eyes and how they'd been used to undermine Spencer. And she wanted with all her heart to tell him that wasn't the whole story. That Sarah had nothing but good things to say about him.

Then, even as she thought it, Ana understood the whole truth of Sarah's final words.

Ana didn't see the entire story…the entire _ghost_ any more than Spencer did. And even though her tactics might be less painful, they were just as much an impediment to grasping the reality, the _wholeness_ of a situation, as were his.

_Oh, God, Spencer…we're both only halfway right. _She felt a twist of sorrow deep inside. Sorrow for having missed unknown opportunities or insights because she filtered out half of the information life provided.

_Spencer, I need you…you __**complete**__ me. Where __**are**__ you!?_

As somewhere immeasurably distant, yet incredibly close, Reid was moaning the same plea to be found, to be whole again…all around Ana, the mist began to shiver.


	22. Halves Completed

Gray mist spiraled and swirled. Vapor became thicker, almost granular. Granules coalesced. Amorphous masses refined themselves into almost guessable shapes.

Ana longed with all her soul for Spencer. Just a glimpse. Just the faintest mind-touch would do.

xxxxxxxxx

Reid curled in upon himself and wondered why she didn't find him…how she couldn't know his need. _She's an empath! She has to know what I'm feeling. She has to care…_

Reid felt all his compartments, filled with all his carefully preserved, lifelong pains and slights, quaking, their lids rattling and bouncing. _If they open, if everything gets loose, what'll I do?_ Sadly, he realized there was nothing he _could_ do. He would be overrun and buried and…gone.

xxxxxxxxx

Ana had no direction.

With her mind's eye and empath's antenna, tuned specifically to Spencer, she cast about...searching ever outward.

And stopped.

_What had Sarah said? _To a certain degree, the shock of hearing her sister had overshadowed the substance of their conversation. Ana discarded the brief wish that her memory could be as precisely accurate as Spencer's. She didn't need word for word recall. She needed the general gist. Something as phenomenal as a visitation from Sarah had to mean more than just idle conversation. _It wasn't just 'goodbye.' It was an offer of help; a way out_. _She said the spark I thought was __**him**__ was her. And that the same light can be found inside all three of us. And we're kind of like two halves of a whole…I wonder if…_

Once again, she began blocking out distractions. Not the physical environment, but the mental one. She closed her mind's eye to the mist. She ignored the temptation to see shapes in its granular undulations…to interpret them and follow them. For all Ana knew, they might be as insubstantial and misleading as mirages in a desert; things meant to conceal rather than reveal. She didn't know enough to judge either way, but something told her that Sarah had wanted her to trust her deepest self.

So she internalized more completely than she'd ever thought possible. _Because I never needed to do it before. Spencer was always there. I didn't need to search._

xxxxxxxxxx

"What the hell is going on?" Hotch wasn't feeling his best. He was hungry and, in spite of having been unconscious for an extended period, he hadn't been immersed in restful sleep. His mind and emotions were overused, exhausted. Worse, he didn't understand the situation in which he found himself.

One of the things Hotch detested most and always fought against hardest, was lack of information. He functioned as an equation would: enter enough facts and he could produce a plan of action. It was how he handled cases. It was how he lived his logical, purposeful life. But now, he was lost.

At the moment, Rossi, Ruiz and that strange, old doctor were all focused on the quiet, still forms of Ana and Reid. The only movement touching the couple were the tears that tracked down Ana's one visible cheek. Most of her face was buried in Reid's neck. And Reid's hands covered his face.

Despite their stationary pose, Hotch knew something vital was happening. He just had no idea what.

As depleted as he was, he couldn't sit by and do _nothing_. If only someone would clue him in, he was sure he'd be able to think of a way to help…assuming help was required. He really couldn't say unless someone answered him.

He looked up at Rossi, standing beside the chair he'd been pushed into. "Dave! What the hell's…"

"Shhhhh." The gentle hand that came from behind, touching his shoulder and then sliding down, making small, massaging motions over his collarbone, compelled him to silence. Hotch looked up at the doctor's face, leaning over him. "I know you want to help, child. But you risk yourself by remaining in their presence." The smile was affectionate. It was the smile of someone who forgave misdirected, good intentions. "You and I need to speak, but…later. For now, I want you to go somewhere where you'll be safer. Where you'll be able to rest and eat something."

With care, but surprising strength, the doctor pulled Hotch to his feet, simultaneously touching Rossi's shoulder. The older agent broke his fixed regard of Reid and Ana, giving the doctor a questioning look.

"It would be best if this boy wasn't here for what comes next." The agents glanced at each other, concerned about abandoning their friends. "It's alright to leave. Trust me to know if anything needs to be done."

When the pair still looked reluctant, the doctor resorted to more direct communication, specifically aimed at Rossi. "He's weak. Everything we've accomplished here…the battle of the last two days…can be undone if he remains." A shadowed dread passed over the older agent's features. "Take care of _him_ and I'll take care of _them_, assuming they need my kind of care."

Before Hotch's tired brain could form an objection, Rossi's firm grip was escorting him out the door.

Regardless of his concern for Reid and Ana, Rossi managed a mischievous smile.

"Aaron, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?"

"You'll see." Rossi hustled him toward the hospital entrance. "By the way, you never answered me: _do_ you have any business cards on you?"

Millie's foyer exhibit was about to increase by one.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When Ana finally managed to block every hint of sensation, of corporeal awareness…when she finally was as completely self-contained as her mind could conceive or believe…she was as blind as Spencer.

Nothing entered. No light. No sound. Not even the ever-present rhythm of her own heartbeat.

In the muffled darkness she floated, directionless. For the time being, she had closed down her intellect. If her interpretation of Sarah's message had been correct, the deepest place within her would be instinct and an unchangeable spark of existence from which all the other so-very-changeable thoughts and emotions sprang.

Ana floated and let herself be drawn deeper.

Until she felt something. Not quite heat. Not quite pressure. More like an effervescence.

She opened her mind's eye and the darkness was total. Except for one, tiny, sparkling mote. It was the same aqua blue-green that she'd seen before; the same color as the spark Sarah had claimed to be her own. Slowly, very slowly, Ana let her senses unfold.

_This is me._ A frisson of anxiety, the fear that accompanied awe, shuddered through her. _It's so small. So bright. It's…beautiful._

She drifted closer without effort, pulled to this central core as long as she was quiet and let it exert its attraction on her. And when she was near enough to discern detail, she gave a mental gasp.

The sparkling light was so noticeable, so dominant…she hadn't seen it fully. Clinging beside it's starburst shape was a fainter version. Less bright. Less vivid. But…connected…linked.

_My God._ Ana stared. _It has a ghost. Another side of itself. An opposite. An equal opposite._

Everything she'd blocked and stifled, all the selective perceptions she'd fostered and cherished…Ana let them go. She let everything burst forth…let all the boxes open.

And _knew_, with her empath's senses, just _knew_ that the same thing was happening to Spencer.

And also knew that the collision when they'd meet would be marvelous.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Reid couldn't hold on any longer.

If he'd somehow lost Ana, he didn't want to. Without her, he didn't care what happened.

With that last defeated thought, he let go of his control. All the boxes burst. All the lids slammed back. All the pain and grief geysered out.

And met an equal and opposite explosion.

Reid forgot that he'd expected to be destroyed. Cascades of sparkling light engulfed him.

He saw them. Every last extraordinary color and pattern. He saw them all.

xxxxxxxxx

_Spencer!_

_Ana?_

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

_I can see it! It's…so … What is it?_

_It's us. Complete and whole and one._

_I can see! How…?_

_Not sure, Spencer. I think it has something to do with my sister Sarah's eyes._

Ana felt a shudder of remembered horror emanating from him. But it changed…morphed…into something else.

_Sarah's eyes…I remember them, Ana. They were so awful, but they were beautiful, too._

_Yes, yes, yes…They were both._

xxxxxxxxx

On the bed in the hospital room in the nameless town in the middle of nowhere, Spencer and Ana smiled and held each other even closer.

They kept their eyes closed. What they were seeing was too wonderful to leave just yet.

Julio Ruiz exhaled deeply. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. He looked at the elderly man standing beside him and smiled.

_I think they are good now, yes?_

The doctor clapped him on the back.

_It's been a pleasure working with you, priest. You haven't had a chance to see the rest of my hospital. Would you like the grand tour?_

The two men were quiet as they left. They didn't want to disturb the young couple who had finally completed each other.


	23. Emerging From the Dark

Rossi decided there must've been something in the doctor's touch that had rendered Hotch a bit more malleable than usual. He let himself be steered out the door, down the hallway, and into the street. It wasn't until they were halfway to Millie's B&B that whatever-it-was wore off.

"Dave, I really think we should be back there with Reid and Ana."

"No, we shouldn't."

"But if something goes wrong…"

"Then we won't be the ones to fix it." He positioned himself behind the reluctant, still-shaky Unit Chief and propelled him forward with small, repetitive pushes. "Besides, you're a patient and your doctor has given instructions. Eat. Rest. You're going to follow them."

Hotch stumbled as he cast a longing look back at the hospital just as Rossi delivered another push to the small of his back.

"Let it go, Aaron. There's more going on here than either of us can understand. Especially me. Let it go."

"Well, maybe you can explain some of it to me anyway, okay? Try?"

"Sure. As long as we do it with you sitting down and eating, or lying down and resting. Deal?"

"But…"

They were at Millie's garden gate. Rossi knew she'd been watching for any foot traffic headed her way when he saw the front door begin to open.

"Heads up, Aaron. You're about to meet your match."

Hotch turned curious eyes in the direction Rossi was looking just in time to be assaulted by an avalanche of gingham apron and effusive welcome. As Millie cooed and oohed over the man Mr. Rosie…_Dave_!...had brought her…clearly yet another in the panoply of FBI agents who were destined to become her second family, clearly a young man who required recuperative, motherly care… Hotch's slightly panicked look telegraphed a mute plea for rescue. Rossi ignored it. He hung back and let Millie engulf his friend. He was sure Aaron's polite, gentlemanly breeding and his respectful consideration of others' feelings, would manifest itself, making it impossible for him to break free of Millie's penchant for lavishing food and attention on her guests.

_Poor guy. Never really had a chance. And if his stomach should growl in her presence? Doomed. Absolutely doomed. We might never see the scruffy, skinny thing again._

But Rossi didn't feel _too_ bad. Millie was just what the doctor had ordered.

xxxxxxxxxx

The cascading, scintillating fireworks had faded.

Reid raised his head, knowing Ana was by his side, holding him close against her. Slowly, very, very slowly, he opened his eyes. She was the first thing he saw, looking back at him. He gasped.

He could see, but things looked _different_. Even _she_ looked different.

_Spencer? What's wrong? Are you okay?_ Ana's happy expectation felt blind-sided. Her smile faltered. Something wasn't quite right. She didn't feel fear in him, exactly, but he was alarmed. Very alarmed. _Oh, no. Now what?!_

_I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay._

_Stop it! You sound like Hotch when you say that. And he's __**never**__ 'okay' when he does that. Talk to me, Spencer._

As he tried to explain, she felt a measure of calm return to him. But it was overlaid with what Ana could only describe as 'wonder.' _Things are __**glowing**__, Ana. That's the only word I can think of for it. _She felt a frisson of self-criticism flit through him. _I don't need words with you. Duh. Touch me. See what I see._

Again, she held him close. Instead of waiting for the connection, the symbiosis to happen, Ana repeated the blocking maneuver she'd used so recently to find him. She closed down her own vision. All that was left, was his. Her indrawn breath told him she'd succeeded. As Reid drew his head back, the better to see her face, she saw herself through his eyes.

_Spencer! You're right! I'm…I'm glowing. It's kinda cool, but really odd, too. _Reid looked at her closed eyes and grinned. A few minutes ago, he'd thought he might be blind forever. Any kind of vision that was restored to him was just fine. He pulled back a little more and drank in every detail he could of his fiancé's bent head.

_I'm not sure what this is, or why. Maybe it'll wear off, but if it doesn't…I can live with it. As long as I can still see you, I'll take it. _He thought he detected a faint touch of concern in her. _Ana? Everything okay?_

_Spencer, does my hair really look like that in the back?_

At the front desk, the receptionist glanced up when she heard the young man's laughter. She smiled and resumed filing charts. She was happy to work at a facility where mirth was more common than tears.

She never questioned the doctor's methods. However he accomplished it, the outcome was usually inexplicable, and unexpected, and for the best.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Julio Ruiz was in a blissful state of awe.

Carrying on an entire conversation with this incredible man who ran this remarkable hospital, telepathically, was the single most gratifying experience of his life. He was ecstatic over his newly discovered ability to communicate; grateful to the doctor who had recognized the gift in him and had opened it by addressing it. And he was in a euphoric daze, wondering what else he could learn from this man, this place.

Julio had never trusted hospitals or standardized Western medicine. He had seen too many people under such care worsen; disintegrate before his very eyes. It was why he had chosen to follow the path of Palo Mayombe which devoted itself to the healing arts. And Julio Ruiz _was _an artist in his chosen field.

But _this_ place! He accompanied the doctor on his rounds, watching every move, letting his preconceptions of hospitals recede and vanish. Replacing them with this man's visions and practices, with new ideas and hope for things that might be accomplished in the name of compassionate care. When the doctor had seen to every patient, he yawned and gave Julio an apologetic look.

_You think I am indefatigable, priest, but I'm not. Soon, I will need to rest. But first I should look in on the man Aaron. I'm not finished with him._

_I don't really know him, but he seems a nice man. Will he be alright?_

The doctor smiled as he placed a companionable hand on Ruiz's shoulder. _He __**is**__ a nice man. And I'll make sure he's alright._

They were back in the front lobby. Afternoon sunlight poured through the glass doors. Julio felt a sense of peace he'd rarely experienced. The doctor's smile grew wider.

_Go pack up your supplies. Bring your bag out with you. I'll show you where you can spend the night._

_You're tired. This town…so small…I can find my way if you tell me where to go._

_It's alright. My patient is there. I want to check him before I go to my own rest. Bring your bag, priest. And prepare yourself to meet one of our local residents._ Julio raised his eyebrows, inviting more information, since he could detect an undercurrent of amusement running through the doctor's thoughts.

_She is currently collecting FBI agents. I'm curious to see what she thinks of you._

The Palero shrugged and retraced his steps to the room where he'd left his bag, its contents redolent of magic and Mayombe scattered across the floor.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi let Millie take over looking after Hotch.

He kept a tight rein on himself. He didn't want to insult the lady by laughing at her, nor did he want to distract her from her quarry and risk redirecting her attention to himself. He knew he'd have to answer for abandoning him to her, but it was just so much fun to watch Hotch's first experience of the B&B.

From the dazed incredulity on the Unit Chief's face when he was herded past the displays in the foyer, to the golden moment when his stomach betrayed him with a growl audible from fifteen feet away, Rossi enjoyed it all.

Millie bundled a stunned Aaron into the dining room, sat him down, and bustled about, plying him with every delicacy her larder could produce. But after the initial shock wore off, Hotch's appetite asserted itself. To Millie's everlasting satisfaction, this newest agent tore into whatever she put in front of him like a ravenous, and very grateful, wolf.

It all happened so quickly, Rossi didn't have a chance to perform proper introductions. Rather than interrupt Hotch's refueling process, he came up behind him and slipped a discreet hand into his pocket. Extracting a crisp, new business card, Rossi presented it to Millie with a flourish.

"Miss Millie, may I present Agent Aaron Hotchner…the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit." He spoke in a loud stage whisper. "Our _leader_. The Big Cheese. Top Dog. Boss-man."

Millie's eyes shone as she accepted this newest trophy with its small, glistening FBI seal prominently displayed.

Hotch coughed, but managed to avoid choking. The accusatory look in the corner of his eye as he tracked Rossi told the older agent there'd be appropriate payback once Hotch was feeling better.

Rossi responded with a sly grin. Then he took Millie aside to tell her Agent Hotchner had been ill and would be needing all sorts of extra care for the next few days.

Millie beamed, already planning to put the poor man into the room next to hers. That way she could keep the closest possible eye on him for the duration of his stay.

Rossi sat down to watch Hotch eat, wondering if he could get away with telling Millie her new guest might need help bathing.


	24. Social Navigation and the Power of Pie

Reid and Ana joined Julio and the doctor as they walked to Millie's B&B.

They made a strange quartet. Reid was looking about, beaming a huge grin at some of the most ordinary sights. He was realizing not everything glowed, but the effect was hard to ignore when it did appear. Ana occupied a position directly under his arm, one of hers looped around his waist. Their close contact rendered verbal communication optional. Still, as their telepathic conversation progressed, their reactions played across their facial features, just as if they were talking aloud.

The same could be said of the doctor and Ruiz. Although their discussion was of the serious, professional sort, they also reacted to each other with nods, smiles and the occasional raised eyebrow. Although the doctor was arguably the most respected, even revered, local citizen, his companion drew curious stares. The man simply looked _exotic_. His skin was so richly dark, it spoke of tropical environs most of this town's inhabitants would never see. When the Palero had retrieved his bag of Mayombe supplies, he'd found it easier to slip some of the pre-assembled necklaces and bracelets on, rather than cram them back into his luggage. He planned on re-packing them with care and ceremony once he was in the privacy of the room the doctor assured him was available. In the meantime, spectators were treated to a dazzling assortment of colorful accessories showcased in gleaming splendor against his ebony skin.

Shopkeepers and other residents gazed open-mouthed as the four walked down the town's main street, silent, but displaying a wide gamut of facial expressions punctuated by the young couple's laughter and affectionate snuggling.

They watched as all four ascended the porch steps of the B&B.

More than a few onlookers resolved to invite Miss Millie to dinner as soon as possible. Her stock as the focal point for gossip and strange tales of the outside world skyrocketed.

xxxxxxxxxx

Before experiencing Millie's hospitality, Aaron Hotchner would never have believed that the world of culinary arts could bring him to his knees. Defeated. Beaten. Begging for release.

He'd been genuinely hungry. Famished, in fact. But now his stomach was straining against the waistband of his pants, and when Millie placed a large slice of blueberry pie topped with a huge dollop of vanilla ice cream before him, he thought he might cry.

She wouldn't let him go. He got the feeling that she expected to see him gain weight as she watched. Since he had a hard time keeping the slight amount he already had, Hotch thought it was a very real possibility that he might suffer death-by-food, or fall into a nutrition-induced coma before she realized he wouldn't fill out before her eyes. Faced with the plate of pie, Millie's soft, anxious, imploring look, and her plea for him to "Try just one more bite…for me? Please?", Hotch was considering toppling to the floor and crawling away under the table, when the front door opened.

"Millie? You home?" The doctors' booming, jovial voice brought hope of escape. "I've brought you another guest! Millie?"

The proprietress' face went through a slide-show of expressions. Reluctance to leave the painfully thin man who'd gone a little green around the edges, but still needed feeding up; elation at a surprise visit from the town's illustrious first citizen; pride for the popularity of her establishment…_Imagine! FIVE guests!_...; and exasperation…_I've told him time and again: __**four**__ guests is my limit!_...

xxxxxxxxx

Rossi had gone to his room, leaving Hotch under Millie's supervision…a move that Hotch added to his list of grievances demanding retribution. When he heard the doctor's voice, he guessed that the drama he and Hotch had left behind in the hospital had somehow resolved itself. The upbeat tone of the doctor's greeting gave him hope that the resolution had been a happy one. Eager to learn how Reid and Ana were, and determined _not_ to miss Millie's first encounter with the Palero priest, Rossi went to the head of the stairs and surveyed the scene below.

'Amazed regard' seemed to be the order of the day.

Rossi glanced toward the visible portion of the dining room to check on Hotch first.

The man sat before an enormous wedge of rich, sweet, syrupy-looking pie. Glassy gaze fixed and steady, he swayed slightly in his seat. Rossi was reminded of a video he'd once seen of a bird mesmerized by a cobra. Similarly, the pie seemed to have transfixed Hotch.

Next, Rossi focused on Reid and Ana.

He felt a wave of relief and gratitude. The young couple looked fine. More than fine. The only puzzling thing was the way Reid was craning around, looking at everything and everyone. His eyes were wide and astonished, but joyful. Rossi had the feeling Reid was seeing something other than the B&B's fussy, Victorian interior. It was curious, but not alarming.

And last, Rossi watched Millie, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, approaching the duo of doctor and priest.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she moved closer… _but not too close!_ The dark skin, the outlandish beaded jewelry, the aura of subtle power. _And his luggage!_ Like an old-fashioned carpetbag that used one button to fasten its otherwise gaping maw. She could see some of the contents. Definitely _not_ just a change of clothes and toiletries appropriate for the male gender. Feathers and sticks sprouted from its confines. Unidentifiable scents wafted from it. When the man dropped it to the floor at his feet, she heard rattles and chimes and the clinking of glass. Millie licked nervous, dry lips and wondered how such a creature came to be in her comfortably homogenous, little community. In her proper, sedate home. _And accompanied by the most respected man in town!_

The doctor took a step to the side. Nodding toward his companion, who towered over the B&B's proprietress, he performed formal introductions.

"Miss Millie, this is Mr…." Names were always difficult for the doctor to recall. Not because of a faulty memory, but because they were labels that signified…nothing. However, his prolonged contact with Hotch and the necessity of soothing the man, had made him acknowledge the label of 'Aaron.' Similarly, after spending some quality mental time with this visitor from Miami, he accorded him the respect and honor of acknowledging _his_ particular label. "…Mr. Julio Ruiz…my esteemed colleague. A gentleman devoted to the study of religion and the healing arts." Millie wasn't the only one to raise her eyebrows. Julio felt honored and privileged. His smile widened considerably. He gave the doctor a grateful look before turning to the woman fluttering before him.

"Miss Millie, thank you for allowing me to stay in your…" Julio's eyes darted around the stuffy, over-decorated space. "…_gracious_ establishment." He bent his head in a dignified, respectful token of a bow.

"I…I…I'm so…" She couldn't stop staring. But then, Millie's upbringing, her devotion to her standards of etiquette…albeit, her own interpretation of them…took over. And her mind, acutely sharp when it came to social navigation, realized the treasure trove standing before her, presenting her with endless opportunities to dazzle her neighbors with tales of the mysterious Orient…or Dark Continent…or _wherever_ this man hailed from. At least, he and his origins would be mysterious when Millie finished polishing up whatever she could glean from keen-eyed observation and eavesdropping.

So Millie remembered herself.

"Mr. Roolies. Welcome. Welcome to my home."

Then, to the amusement of everyone present, Millie executed a somewhat awkward version of a curtsey, holding the gingham hem of her apron wide.

To the amusement of everyone, that is, except Hotch. He was still entranced…communing silently with the hitherto unknown and unsuspected horror engendered by the thought and presence of…pie.


	25. The Gift

Once Millie stopped bobbing and curtseying to the most colorful guest the B&B had ever hosted…_a colleague, a personal friend of the doctor's!_...she had to address the dilemma he represented. And when she did, her tone was severe.

"Doctor, I'm honored you brought Mr. Roolies to me, but…" her discomfort was extreme. She cast a furtive glance at Julio, who had just noticed the foyer 'portraits' constructed from the dust jackets of Rossi's books. She hooked a hand in the crook of the doctor's arm, indicating her desire to put a discreet distance between them and the object of discussion. Bringing him to the dining room entrance, Millie resumed explaining her delicate situation. "…I only have room for _four_ guests! I've told you time and again! _Four _is the limit!"

The elderly doctor enjoyed teasing the B&B's owner. Tweaking her sense of propriety was a small, harmless treat he gave himself every so often. Now, he graced her with one of his kindest smiles. "Miss Millie, I'm sure the youngsters wouldn't mind bunking together. Why don't you ask them?" He nodded toward Reid and Ana, gazing at each other, oblivious to the rest of the world.

Millie watched with horrified eyes as the young man bent down and planted a kiss on the girl's lips. Yes, it was a very sweet, very chaste kiss, but Millie knew…she just _knew_ that if the two were left alone together over the course of a night, there would be some sort of hormonal _surge_ that she simply could _not_ tolerate under her roof. She turned back to the doctor, confronting what she considered an unforgiveable breech of mores and ethics. "Doctor! I'm shocked you could even _propose_ such a…such a…"

Before Millie could think of something appropriately heinous to describe the doctor's suggestion of cohabitation, his glance fell on Hotch.

"Awwwww, Millie… What did you do?" He detached himself from her hold and went to stand beside the man who seemed to be engaged in a ferocious staring contest with his dessert.

Millie's protest was indignant. "I…I didn't do anything! He was hungry. I'm just making sure he gets enough, that's all." She huffed out a disgruntled puff of air. Crossing her arms, she restated her original concern. "We still haven't concluded our discussion about sleeping arrangements, doctor."

The old man sighed. Placing a hand on Hotch's shoulder, he delivered his final verdict on the question of how many guests Millie could accommodate. "You're a very discerning businesswoman, Millie. I'm sure you'll manage to find an acceptable compromise." He leaned down and looked into Hotch's glazed eyes. "Right now, I need to know which room you've assigned to this young man."

Millie frowned. She'd thought this newest FBI agent was being polite when he said he was full…several courses ago. On second consideration, he did look a trifle, well, _bilious_. She wouldn't have given it a second thought, but the doctor was sending her reproving looks as he bracketed the man's shoulders with gentle hands and coaxed him up from his seat. She adopted a properly contrite expression.

"Upstairs, third door on the left. Right next to _my_ room." She hoped that by letting the doctor know the proximity of where she'd put his patient, it would be understood that she intended to lavish him with the most attentive care possible.

"Come with me, son. I need to take a look at you." The doctor kept a supportive arm around the sluggishly-moving man as he escorted him toward the staircase.

Rescued at last, Hotch turned grateful eyes on his savior.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, son?...Careful…one step at a time…"

"That was the third piece of pie. They…they just…kept…coming…"

The older man shook his head, making sympathetic tsk-ing sounds.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Rossi watched them pass by.

"Hotch? You okay?"

The look the Unit Chief gave him told Rossi payback was still on the agenda. And, if Aaron had his way, it would be epic.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Once they reached the room adjacent to Millie's, the doctor closed the door behind him, giving Hotch a gentle push toward the bed.

"Lie down, son… Aaron."

Hotch eased himself down with a groan. He had to lie on his back. If he put any pressure on his stomach, he was afraid something would burst. The doctor took a seat on the edge of the bed, looking down on the lidded eyes in a face whose stoicism failed to conceal lines of weariness and strain.

"First things first." Hotch felt a hand on his midriff. He was about to protest, but its pressure was lighter than drifting snow. Gradually, the weight of the doctor's palm against him increased, but, to his surprise, it merely felt warm and comforting. The over-full sensation lessened, then disappeared.

"Better?" The doctor rubbed his patient's stomach a little more vigorously, then gave it a few pats for good measure.

"Much better. Thank you." Hotch sighed with relief. A few minutes before, a deep breath would have been downright painful. He kept his eyes closed. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but his mind felt as though it had been turned inside out and scrubbed clean. He was mentally and emotionally exhausted. And he didn't know why. Whatever he'd experienced over the last few days was blurring more with each passing minute. All he knew for sure was that he'd never been so frightened or alone before. Considering some of the things he'd endured, that was saying a lot.

He also knew he owed several people for rescuing him from a deadly situation. And topping that list of benefactors was this elderly gentleman who remained beside him now and whose silent regard he could feel.

"Child…Aaron…open your eyes."

Hotch obeyed. There was something about this man that made the agent reluctant to defy him. Ever.

The doctor wanted to be sure this patient, one he genuinely cared for on a personal level, wasn't still carrying any mental wounds that would surface when he was home…far away from help. He searched the brown eyes for several minutes. They started out guarded, but little by little something unfolded in them. It looked gentle and vulnerable. And so very, very lonely. The doctor laid a hand along the side of Hotch's face and ran his thumb back and forth over the prominent cheekbone.

Hotch remembered that touch from his first encounter with this man. He wanted to drift off to sleep under its soothing influence, but he couldn't quite manage to break away from the eyes looking into his.

For his part, the doctor was deep in Hotch's psyche, tracking past and future paths that collided in this man's soul. They caused him pain. They gave him strength. There was a peculiar kind of tragic beauty running through him.

Finally, the doctor smiled. "Shakespeare and the Greek tragedians would have loved you." He gave his head a rueful shake. "So much material to work with." His expression turned serious. "I've told the telepath to leave you alone from now on. I know some of the circumstances that led to his opening a path into your mind, and I _do_ understand the timely necessity that made him do it. But, as you've learned, there are consequences to such contact. Especially when initiated by a novice, and continued on an almost daily basis."

Although Hotch said nothing, he knew he was somehow being 'read.' Normally, he would have found the idea repellent. But with this man, he didn't mind so much. After a few more minutes of study, the doctor spoke again.

"You've grown accustomed to having the telepath's touch in your subconscious. You'll miss it." The thumb kept up its steady caress. "You won't always be so lonely, child. Believe me when I tell you that you stand a better chance of finding companionship _without_ that touch affecting your daily life."

Hotch swallowed. He didn't want to cry, but the words and the very depth of understanding threatened to undo him. And again, the doctor seemed to know. Hotch felt a wave of comfort and warmth loosening the tension he always carried in his chest. He thought how nice it would be to fall asleep while he felt it.

The doctor's smile was humorous and affectionate. Taking a deep breath, he removed his hand from the side of Hotch's face, laying it flat against his forehead instead.

_It's alright. Sleep, Aaron. In safety. In peace. Sleep._

After he'd drifted off, the doctor spent some time examining his patient; he traveled through his experiences, his heredity, his physical and mental states. He learned the man's father had died of lung cancer. And he'd suffered a heart attack at a young age…almost the age Aaron was now. The doctor looked, and then, with his unique way of weaving gleaned information into probabilities, he extrapolated. He saw personal and professional stress, and a regrettable lack of care for self, impacting this man in a very final, fatal way. When he was sure of it, he sat back and held a debate with himself.

_This boy deserves some happiness. For all he's done to save others, he deserves to be saved himself._

_But it is unwise to change his fate. Even I can't read all the effects and consequences of…altering…him._

_But sometimes…at the best of times…one has to follow the promptings of one's heart, rather than the rules of one's mind._

_And I like him. Longer life will not be misused by this kind-souled man._

After careful consideration, the doctor came to a decision. He would do something for Aaron. To Aaron. Something he'd done twice before. _Only_ twice in the long ages of his existence. Something he did to himself periodically, but only twice to someone else.

While Hotch dreamt, the elderly physician unbuttoned the agent's shirt. Pressing one hand over his heart and one hand across his throat, he did some of the same things to Aaron that he'd done to himself. Things that had allowed him to repair the ravages of time on the human body. Things that had allowed him to live a very, very long time. For the doctor, it was ongoing maintenance that extended his lifespan. For this patient, it would be a one-time gift.

When the old man finally left Hotch's room, he knew his patient would remain in deep, healing sleep throughout the night.

He also knew that Aaron's heart and lungs would never betray him to an early death, as his father's had. They had been cleaned, repaired, and strengthened. He turned for a last look at the face, so clear and untroubled in the abandonment of sleep.

_Use your time wisely, child. Continue to do good in the world. But find happiness for yourself as well._

The doctor closed the door with quiet care and thought longingly of his own bed. It had been a very long, demanding few days. He was tired. But the effort had been worth it. His smile morphed into a yawn.

Hotch would never know the gift he'd been given.

_That's alright. As long as he uses it well._

The doctor had no doubt he would.


	26. Hindsight

While the doctor was working on Hotch, things took on their own momentum downstairs at the little B&B.

Miffed at the doctor's lack of appreciation for her rooming dilemma, Millie simply told everyone to make themselves at home and went grocery shopping. She needed time to think. And she needed to replenish supplies after that ravenous, but now over-sated, young man requiring her special attention had depleted her stores. Normally, she only provided her guests with breakfast, but her current lodgers were special. And it wouldn't hurt for the town to see through her leaded glass windows that she was taking her own meals with them. It would incite all kinds of delicious speculation about how close she was to the darker mysteries of the world outside. Slightly mollified at the thought, she wrapped a lavender crocheted shawl around her plump shoulders, cast a last look at the Palero priest still inspecting her foyer display, wondered what kind of food he preferred, and left.

Reid and Ana finally surfaced from their absorption in each other and in the novelty of Spencer's newly enhanced vision. Reid looked up the stairs to where Rossi was hovering near the closed door of Hotch's room. He was torn. He'd picked up that Hotch was out of danger, but he very much wanted to see for himself. Actually, he wanted to 'see' for himself. And, when it came to Hotch, _that_ kind of sight had been strictly forbidden by the doctor. The fact that Rossi seemed concerned, ramped up Reid's worry-factor, too.

"Rossi? Is Hotch okay?"

The older agent looked down at the couple watching him pace. "I hope so. I'm not sure, but I think he's just got a little case of indigestion. The doctor's taking care of it. I hope."

Reid could tell there was more to the story.

"He's feeling guilty," Ana whispered in his ear. The slight smile playing about her lips told Reid that whatever had happened, it didn't feel too serious to her. Still, he was curious. He decided to bide his time. Rossi would be more apt to reveal details once this mini-crisis had passed.

"I left my go-bag in the car." Now that he could see a glowing aura around certain people and things, Reid wanted to wander around the town and see if he could get a handle on _why_ this visual effect appeared to be selective. "Wanna go get it with me?" Ana's answer was a grin as she slipped her hand into his.

_I keep telling you, Spencer,...Where you go, I go too._

xxxxxxxxxx

Julio Ruiz was examining Millie's home.

He found the overabundance of knick-knacks and pseudo-Victorian ornaments fascinating. He'd never met anyone quite like this woman. Nor had anyone ever _curtseyed_ to him before. He sensed there was much to be learned in this town. Not just at the hospital, under the doctor's tutelage, but from its inhabitants, so unlike those of his Miami neighborhood.

Miami.

It would be time to return soon. The young FBI agent with the mind-gifts, Reid, had told him there would be a return ticket waiting for him whenever he wished. Ruiz thought of his neighborhood and the people he served. Not just at the soup kitchen, but as their priest; the one who intervened for them with the _orishas_ and Elegua.

He missed them. He also missed the heat, and the way light saturated the sky and the land, making colors gleam with depth and intensity. This upstate, northern place was so different. Denser. Surrounded by trees unlike those of his home. And the sky was a different color.

But Julio could feel magic here, too. A different kind. And the old healer who held such power within... He could learn so much from him.

He missed Miami. But there had to be a reason why he'd been brought here. A reason reaching beyond the saving of a single FBI agent's life.

The Palero closed his eyes and searched for his _orisha._ He needed answers and guidance.

And he _really_ wasn't looking forward to getting on a plane for the return flight home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the doctor exited Hotch's room, Rossi was pacing the landing, waiting for him.

"Is he alright?"

The doctor was weary. He let some irritation creep into his voice. "You shouldn't play tricks on your friend when he's so vulnerable." The look he gave Rossi reminded the agent of his days as a misbehaved schoolboy being scolded by nuns.

Still, Rossi felt he had to speak up in his own defense. "He didn't have to keep eating. He could have stopped."

"No. He couldn't." A deep sigh washed recrimination out of the statement. The kind tolerance that was the doctor's trademark and truest nature returned. "It's not entirely your fault. I should have told you."

"Told me what? He _is_ okay, isn't he?"

"He'll be fine. Better than fine." The old man resigned himself to another session of explanation when all he wanted was to go home and rest before he had to return to the hospital and spend more of himself looking after others. But the man before him, brow creased with worry, filled with genuine guilt, and also filled with love for Aaron, needed to understand.

"I've come to know your…son…very well. Loyalty is one of his most salient traits. He needed to leave the presence of the telepath, but he would have stayed out of loyalty and concern, with no thought for his own welfare. I gave him a little…push."

Rossi thought back to how easily he'd removed Hotch from the hospital; how he hadn't objected until they were almost at the door of the B&B.

"You did something to him. What?"

"I suggested to him, on a very deep level, that it would be nice for everyone involved if he was a good boy and did as he was told for the rest of the day." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away fatigue as well as regret. "I was distracted. It had been a long session keeping your Aaron away from the things in his mind. And I was tracking the progress of the young couple, in case I needed to step in. And I was thanking a relative of the empath for some help she gave." He turned tired, red-rimmed eyes on Rossi. "I didn't think you'd do anything more than put him to bed. I should have known. Millie being Millie, that boy wouldn't make it to his room without being fed." Another weighty sigh. "And, again, Millie being Millie, she would keep pushing him to eat." The compassionate features managed to look sheepish. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I should have warned you."

Rossi didn't know what to say. An apology from this man who'd done so much for Aaron was so…so…_inappropriate_. He felt it would be more in keeping with what this sage, old physician deserved, if he fell to his knees and kissed his hand in gratitude.

He'd forgotten, though, that he was in the presence of someone for whom words were optional.

The doctor read Rossi's almost worshipful attitude and chuckled. "As I told you before: by all means genuflect if it makes you feel better."

Rossi's burst of laughter broke the tension, washing away any need for further apologies, explanations, or guilt. It was enough for him that this harrowing chapter looked as though it would end without any casualties. As the doctor resumed his weary, plodding progress to the head of the stairs, he just needed one more assurance.

"But he _is_ okay now?"

"As I said, he's fine. He's asleep. And that's where I think I'll be headed now. Good night."

"Good night." But Rossi lingered outside Hotch's door, another mischievous grin sliding across his features. _I wonder how long it'll last… this 'be a good boy and do as you're told' thing._

The thought had hardly formed when the doctor, midway down the stairs, spoke up. "I wouldn't go there, if I were you, son." He stopped and looked back up at Rossi. "He's already forming a plan of revenge." The old man continued on his way as he gave his last piece of advice and wisdom for the day.

"If I were you, I'd do everything in my power to get back in his good graces before you head home. Otherwise…well…I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. It's not gonna be pretty."

Rossi looked back at Hotch's closed door and swallowed. He wondered if it was too late to take back the comment he'd made to Millie when she'd been in the kitchen, out of the Unit Chief's earshot.

_Oh, God. I told her he'd probably need help dressing after she bathed him, too._


	27. Specialized Care

Onlookers watched the young couple wander.

They didn't seem to have any special purpose or particular destination, although their meandering progress kept taking them closer to the hospital, the largest building in town. It was also the most illuminated; lit within and without as another day drew to a close. But when Reid looked at it, he was intrigued. He saw more than light.

He was becoming accustomed to the shimmering glow that surrounded Ana. Hers was a mellow, golden color. So far, he'd noticed auras tinged with blues and greens. One disturbing occurrence of gritty blackish-brown had made him look twice. When he'd accidentally-on-purpose brushed past the man engulfed in it, he'd picked up impressions of illness and untimely death. Ana had tightened her grip on his hand, signaling her discomfort as an empath in this person's presence.

_He's grieving a very fresh loss, Spencer._

_I feel it, too. But I can __**see**__ it, Ana! This is so weird! Kinda cool, though._

_Are you okay with it? Is it going to distract you when you're in the field, or do you think it'll help you?_

Reid took a moment to imagine what it would be like to be processing a crime scene or interviewing a witness when scintillating colors were playing across his vision. _Can't tell for sure until I actually do it, but I __**think**__ it could help. As long as I keep my focus._

_Best thing to do is get used to it then._

_Yeah._ That was when Reid looked toward the hospital. _Ana!_

She felt the alarm in his exclamation and followed his gaze. The hospital loomed at the end of the street. The car she'd used to fetch Spencer and Julio from the airport was still parked in front. Aside from her haphazard job pulling in, Ana didn't see anything that merited alarm.

_It looks like the building's on fire!_

She gave Reid a quizzical look. _It's not on fire, Spencer._

_I know! I know! But it's just __**blazing**__ with…I don't know what to call them…some kind of 'spectral flames,' maybe? Like foxfire met a rainbow?_ He tried to blink the effect away, but it was still there in all its brilliant, colorful glory.

Ana wanted to see through his eyes, but she didn't think it would be a wise move to close down her own vision when Spencer was entranced; definitely not paying attention to where he was walking. He stumbled off the edge of the sidewalk and she caught his arm with her free hand, the one that wasn't already entwined with his. _Spencer! Look where you're going! I know there's no traffic to speak of here, but there're still obstacles._ She cast a few furtive glances at local residents, taking the evening air, ensconced in their porch rocking chairs, enjoying the spectacle of strangers in town. _And people are staring. Let's not give them too much of a show, okay?_

_Sorry._ But he still wasn't paying attention and nearly collided with a post supporting one side of a hardware store's awning. Ana sighed and resigned herself to acting as combination guide and lookout until Spencer was acclimated to his new vision. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, looked both ways up and down the empty street, and maneuvered him across it.

When they reached the car, Reid had forgotten all about his go-bag. Eyes as wide as his grin, he ran a hand along the hospital's façade until they reached the main entrance. He opened the door and held it for Ana, stepping in after her. She could tell by his delighted expression and the way he was gazing around him that whatever about the building's exterior had attracted him, its interior didn't disappoint either.

The night receptionist looked up, recognizing two of the doctor's special guests; part of the group that had arrived with the patient who'd taken up so much of his time. A momentary frown of concern creased her brow.

"May I help you? Is everything alright?"

Ana replied with an apologetic smile. "We're fine, thank you. It's just…well…I don't really know _what_ it is." She gave Reid's arm a small shake, jostling him back from wherever his mind was wandering. _Spencer! What are we doing here? The receptionist wants to know._

_Sorry! It's just so…so…WOW._ Ana ducked her head, hiding her amusement. Spencer was loquacious, never at a loss for words. If whatever he was seeing could render him speechless _mentally_, well, it had to be pretty spectacular. She hoped that they'd be able to find a secluded corner so she could access his vision and understand things a little better. Right now, all she was getting was a mixture of amazement, joy, and intense curiosity.

Reid pulled himself together enough to address the still worried-looking woman behind the main desk. "Do you know if the doctor's planning on coming back here later?"

The anxious look deepened. "I know he went to check on a patient. Your friend? The dark-haired one you brought in earlier? But after that, I'm pretty sure he was headed home." She picked up the phone receiver from her desktop. "If you need him, I can get him back here. He's always on call."

"No! No. Please don't disturb him. It's not like that; not an emergency, I mean. Or anything medical, really." Reid hesitated, wondering how much he should say. He had no idea how the doctor presented himself to his staff. Did they know how remarkable their head physician was? He decided to let that incredible, old gentleman rest, but see if a few pertinent questions would give him any clues about the richness, brilliance, and sheer number of the auras he saw centered here.

"Can I ask you something?"

The receptionist relaxed, putting the receiver back in its cradle. "Of course."

Reid focused, pushing the visual distractions to the back of his mind as best he could. "How does a hospital come to be way out here in the first place? From what I've been told, this area isn't even an incorporated township. Why build a major medical facility so far away from the rest of civilization?"

The woman looked thoughtful, as though she were choosing her words carefully, or maybe considering the question for the first time and wondering the same thing. "I think it's because it's a restful place. Somewhere quiet and remote seems to soothe most of the patients we get."

"What sorts of patients would that be?"

"Well, we get all the hikers and climbers and campers who come out here and get into trouble. You know; accidents like falls or hypothermia, the kind of injuries and conditions that occur when you don't have enough experience or respect for mother nature."

Ana could feel avoidance, diversion, coming from the receptionist. "But that's not all you get, is it? There are others, aren't there?"

The woman looked down, using the action of shuffling paper to give herself time to think. When she looked up, she'd come to a decision. _We get people like you. Mostly._

The answer had been clear and loud and completely telepathic.

xxxxxxxxxx

Millie was loading groceries into her car, well aware that dinner at the B&B would be a bit later than usual. It would also be for a great many more people than she was used to having around her table. She sighed as she squeezed behind the wheel, wondering if the doctor's colleague, the dark, exotic Mr. Roolies, would appreciate the trouble she'd gone to with this trip to the largest market within a twenty mile radius of her home.

It was only an outlet of a national chain, but it boasted a larger selection of items than the small, mom-and-pop stores that she normally frequented, simply because they were nearer, more convenient, and entirely adequate for her needs. Except, that is, when she needed to cater to _exotic_ tastes.

Faced with the actual selection of items, she'd dithered a bit. What exactly qualified as exotic fare? With time pressing on her, Millie had opted for anything she considered tropical. That seemed exotic enough. She'd stocked up on canned pineapple, bananas, shredded coconut, and packages of dried mango and papaya. As she drove homeward, she reflected that not all her guests might appreciate the cuisine she associated with Mr. Roolies' origins. She might need to prepare two different menus. One regular. One garnished with the…literal…fruits of her shopping labors.

She decided rice and chicken was a good base. And it wouldn't take too long to prepare.

She reminded herself she'd have to set her alarm to rise extra early tomorrow morning, because she was sure the convalescing FBI agent…_their BOSS!_... should be provided breakfast in bed.

And then he'd need help bathing and dressing.

And she still hadn't decided on the sleeping arrangements.

As she drove the darkening way home, Millie decided not to worry much more about it. If worse came to worst, she'd give her room to the young lady and set up the plastic chaise lounge from her lawn furniture in the hallway for herself. Her lips pressed together in smug satisfaction. That way she could be sure the young couple didn't sneak together…and she'd be able to hear if the recuperating man needed anything during the night.

Yes, it was all working out. _And Mr. Rosie…Dave!... will be so pleased when he sees the care I take of his boss!_ He had seemed most anxious to be sure she grasped the full extent of the fragile state of his friend's…_Boss'!_...health and the special needs it engendered.

Millie found herself looking forward to morning when she could impress everyone with the full gamut of her nursing skills.


	28. Matter of Opinion

Julio didn't see the doctor leave, but he felt the B&B's atmosphere _change_, and knew his presence had gone from it.

He'd wanted to speak to the old man again, but he could sense his fatigue bordering on exhaustion. Tomorrow would be soon enough for another discussion, more questions, more sharing of experiences and methods. In the meantime, he was feeling a little ragged around the edges himself. The stressful flight from Miami, the discovery of his own telepathy, and the weighty demands he'd put on his relationship with Elegua and his _orisha_ to straighten out the FBI agents had drained him.

As tired as he felt, he still had some duties to perform before he could go to his own rest.

First, he needed to check once more on the man who'd been tortured by Reid's ghosts.

He ascended the stairs and walked along the landing to the door that was slightly ajar, soft lamplight spilling out onto the carpeted floor. He pushed the door wider.

Inside the room, the older agent was standing over the one who'd been in danger. Julio's eyes went immediately to the sleeping man's wrist, assuring himself that he still wore the beaded bracelet that had been constructed especially for his needs. He approached the bed where the man lay, attracting the attention of his friend.

Rossi glanced up, gave a nod of acknowledgement to the Palero and then resumed studying Hotch.

"It occurs to me that we've never actually been introduced, although I've heard a great deal about you from Reid." A hand was extended. "I'm David Rossi. I was in Miami, too."

"Julio Ruiz." Their hands met. "I remember you. And this one." The Palero nodded toward the bed.

"That's Aaron Hotchner. He's the guy in charge…when he's awake…and well."

Ruiz held onto Rossi's hand for several heartbeats longer than the average shake. He looked into the agent's eyes, frankly studying him.

"He is much more to you. He is your deep friend."

"'Deep friend?'"

"One who has traveled through much with you. One you would choose to always have at your side, if choice were allowed. One whose spirit is tied to yours."

Rossi swallowed and felt a faint chill whisper up his spine to his neck, making the small hairs stand up. He'd avoided thinking any more about the doctor's conviction that he and Hotch were tied together, destined to share, if not an actual father-son relationship, then a facsimile of one, over and over throughout time. Ruiz's words reminded him of that disturbing, yet also comforting revelation. But he wasn't ready to admit to a belief in reincarnation. So he opted to interpret the statement on a much more accessible level.

"We've known each other a long time. We've been through a lot. It's part of the job we both do."

Julio released Rossi's hand, but his steady regard didn't waver.

"It's more than that."

Rossi raised a defiant chin. He was willing to endure this kind of analysis from the doctor, who was much older and had accosted him with it when he was off his game. Worry for Hotch and the demonstrable fact that his mind had not only just been read, but spoken to telepathically, had knocked him off balance. In his private estimation, Rossi went a step further: _I was weirded out. Completely._ But that had been the doctor. As grateful as he was to Ruiz for his help, and as respectful as he was of the man's knowledge and position, Rossi wasn't quite willing to depart from the familiar comfort of his native skepticism.

"He's a dear friend. I trust him with my life on an almost daily basis." Rossi met the Palero's gaze. The warm understanding he saw in its depths went a long way to defusing his desire to deflect the man's questions. He broke eye contact and looked down at the still fully-clothed, sleeping agent.

"I care for him like a son. Is that what you want to hear?"

"All I _ever_ want to hear is the truth." Ruiz joined Rossi in watching Hotch. He leaned over and let the tips of his fingers rest on the unconscious man's chest for a moment. Rossi found it to be a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of the doctor's…and Reid's when this whole ESP mess had come to light nearly a year ago. Ruiz straightened. "He will sleep through the night. Maybe more. Should we remove his clothes?"

"Probably be a good idea. Yeah."

They went to work. As Rossi tried to free Hotch's arms from his shirt, a cuff snagged on the bracelet. Rossi grunted at the minor impediment, and began to slip the beads over his friend's hand.

"NO!" Ruiz lunged from where he was removing shoes and socks. Grabbing Rossi's hand, he pulled it away, pushing the bracelet back up as far as it would go on Hotch's arm. "No! Until the other,… Reid,… has more control, your friend _must_ wear it. Do you understand?"

"No. Not really." Nonplussed, Rossi had taken a step back. He believed that talismans, charms and amulets had power, _if_ the wearer believed in them. Although Ruiz was a practitioner of Palo Mayombe, and therefore a firm believer, Hotch wasn't. He was fairly sure the Unit Chief would slip the thing off first chance he got. Rossi found it remarkable enough that Reid, man of science that he was, had resumed wearing the yellow bracelet Julio had given him when they'd first met in Miami, and didn't seem in any hurry to remove it. He assumed Reid did so partly to humor the Palero and partly out of respect for his beliefs. _His_ beliefs. Not Reid's. Not Hotch's. _Not mine._

Ruiz worked Hotch's cuff down over his hand and freed his arm from the sleeve. "There." He glanced at Rossi. "Now you can do the other side. But we must make sure he knows to leave it on."

The two men gave each other sidelong glances as they continued to remove Hotch's outer clothing. Rossi broke the wary silence.

"What exactly is that thing supposed to do? What'll happen when…_if_ he takes it off?"

Julio finished folding Hotch's slacks, placing them in a neat pile with the other garments they'd relieved him of. "It works in tandem with the other, with Reid's." When Rossi gave him a very unsatisfied look, Julio sighed. He was tired, but he could see a much more in-depth explanation would be necessary. At least, it would be if he wanted to make sure the work he and Reid had done remained inviolate.

"What Reid wears will shatter the ghosts; keep the bad parts from making a home in his head. What _he_ wears…" Ruiz pointed at Hotch with his chin. "…will reflect the shattered pieces; stop them from entering him. Stop them from following the path Reid made into him. He must wear it until he is healed and the path is closed. He must wear it until the pieces of ghosts don't automatically look for the path, because Reid's mind seeks it first, before any other."

"I don't suppose you could tell me _how_ these things work, could you?"

Julio grinned. "It is by the power of Elegua. That, no man can explain. It is beyond human abilities. It is accepted in faith." His grin grew sly. "Just as you accept and have faith in your God and your Christ."

Rossi couldn't help chuckling. "I don't mean to question your faith, Mr. Ruiz. But I do question its power when it applies to those of _other_ faiths. Like Reid, and Hotch." _And me._

"After what you have seen, you question such power? Still?"

Hotch had been stripped to his boxers. The only other thing on his body was the bracelet. For a moment Rossi thought the beads glowed, but he blinked and told himself it was just the contrast of their saturated color against the pallor of Hotch's skin. He shook out a quilt that had lain folded at the bed's foot. Drawing it over his friend's body, tucking in the edges, he thought about all he'd seen and experienced since Reid's first verbal slip at a feed store that had revealed his mind to be gifted far beyond a genius IQ and an eidetic memory.

Ruiz stood beside him as they both took a long, last look at the man who'd been unable to sleep for more than twenty minutes without being plunged into nightmares. He was oblivious to the world. The Palero's next words were soft and final.

"You don't have to believe in any of this. All you have to do is love your friend enough to allow _him_ to believe. You may find the experiences of the last few days have changed him. You don't have to believe. Just talk to him, this man who is your best of friends. And respect him, if he now sees a world different from yours."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having checked on Hotch, Julio had only one more thing he felt needed doing before he could retire for the night.

Leaving Rossi to stand vigil for a little while longer over his friend, the Palero went downstairs. His first stop was the kitchen. He was tempted to look for something to eat, but the requirements of his faith had to come first. He found a large, empty flower vase. Filling it with water, he returned to the foyer and rummaged through his bag of supplies. He made several trips outside to Millie's front yard, setting up candles and a makeshift _nganga_, an altar. Sprinkling water to create a sacred space, Julio called to his _orisha._ He was pleased when his call was answered in short order.

It was time to thank Elegua and his saint for saving the FBI men, for accepting them as Elegua's children and seeing them worthy of rescue.

When he had made his gratitude known, the priest asked for something more personal: advice and information. Who was this doctor who presided over this place, and was more expected of Julio Ruiz?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Millie pulled into the driveway beside her B&B, she stayed in the car for nearly half an hour. She was afraid to leave until Mr. Roolies had finished whatever outlandish rite he was performing in a corner of her front yard.

In plain view of the street.

And the neighbors.

She tore into one of the packages of dried mango strips and munched disconsolately. An exotic snack seemed an appropriate accompaniment to what she was watching, slumped low in her seat, trying not to draw Mr. Roolies' attention.

Millie perked up when she noticed flashes going off across and up and down the road. Onlookers were getting out their cameras and memorializing Mr. Roolies' activities.

That meant pictures. That meant more frames in Millie's foyer.

_That_ was worth skulking in her car.

_That_ made Millie smile.


	29. Wonders and Spectacles

Reid and Ana stared at the receptionist. Minds blank. Speechless, verbally as well as mentally.

The woman looked down at the paperwork she'd been shuffling, biting her bottom lip to keep from chuckling, or even smiling, at the young couple's expense. She remembered her first introduction to the true nature of this hospital in the middle of nowhere. She'd been stunned, too. But then she'd been grateful, and intrigued, and, when the doctor had offered her a position and the option of becoming part of the place…honored.

The couple were clinging to each other, clearly in need of comfort, clearly in need of having solid footing restored. She took pity on them. And besides, she was a very polite, helpful telepath who knew how to dispense comfort. Otherwise, the doctor wouldn't have recruited her.

_Something drew you back here, didn't it?_ She saw the man nod, still unable to overcome his mute shock. _So tell me: did you hear the others, or did you see them? What sense is allowing you to detect them?_ She had a pretty good idea she already knew, based on the way he had been gazing about when they entered the lobby, but she wanted to get them to communicate. It would help relieve the paralysis of shock. The young man's jaw had dropped, but now he managed to close his mouth and blink a few times before answering.

_I…uh…I…__**saw**__ things…Auras, I guess. So many. So many colors and…and so strong._

She let her smile come out of hiding. _That's a rare phenomenon, you know. Nowhere else in the world will you find so many of us in one place, at the same time._ She ducked her head again. _At least no place I know of. I don't get visuals, but I imagine you must be seeing something like the northern lights of the psychic world. Pretty cool, huh?_

Ana and Reid finally laughed at a plebian description of such an incredible reality.

_Yeah. 'Pretty cool.'_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hand in hand, Reid and Ana walked back toward the B&B.

Reid was so immersed in his own thoughts that he'd forgotten the reason they'd headed this way in the first place. At the last minute, as they were passing the rental car, Ana remembered to tell him to get his bag from the trunk. Mission accomplished, they continued down the street toward Millie's. Both looked pensive. Neither communicated much. Mostly, they hugged the knowledge to themselves that, as ESP-ers, they weren't as alone as they'd thought. Not by a long shot.

Reid had wanted to stay and question the receptionist in detail about the hospital and its origins. He'd wanted to look in on some of the patients responsible for the lambent light and color he was seeing as it wavered and flowed through and around the building. But the woman had been firm in turning him away. Questions would have to be saved for the doctor, and patients were _not_ to be disturbed. In fact, any contact whatsoever would be at the doctor's discretion.

So, shocked, but happy, Reid and Ana strolled back to their lodgings, letting this latest experience of discovery wash over them, musing about how misleading appearances could be. This isolated settlement with its small-town atmosphere, and its small-town citizenry was easily the most extraordinary place either of them had ever visited.

With that thought uppermost, they came in view of the B&B. And froze.

_What the…?_

Candles flickered in a corner of the front lawn, bright flames visible through the gaps between the slats of the white, picket fence. Odors of smoke, incense and aromatic oils wafted toward them. Over it all, the deep, rich, sonorous voice of Julio Ruiz chanted sing-song words in an unknown tongue.

And huddled behind the steering wheel of the car in the driveway, Reid could just make out the whites of Millie's eyes as she gaped through the securely closed window at her first encounter with Palo Mayombe proceedings.

xxxxxxxxxx

Satisfied that Hotch was out cold, but in a healing, restful way, Rossi left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Something had been impinging on the fringes of his awareness for a short while, but he'd been so preoccupied assuring himself that Hotch's nightmares wouldn't return, he hadn't realized what it was. As he descended the stairs, wondering where the others were, it hit him and he smiled.

The Palero priest was conducting a ceremony. On Millie's manicured lawn.

Rossi walked out onto the porch and surveyed the scene. He focused first on Ruiz as the priest called to the powers of his faith and made them welcome with scattered water, flames, and a selection of items grouped atop a small structure of sticks that Rossi couldn't quite make out in the dark, even with the help of the several lit candles surrounding them.

Next, he turned his attention to the audience of locals who were observing, but keeping a respectful, and wary, distance. Several had cameras and were jockeying amid the small crowd, looking for better angles from which to document this once-in-a-lifetime, outlandish performance. Rossi noticed Reid and Ana coming down the near side of the street. Reid was carrying his go-bag. By the way he was glancing at Ana and the expressions that flitted across his features, Rossi assumed they were having a telepathic conversation about what the Palo ceremony signified.

And last, Rossi's eyes wandered off to the side of the house, to the driveway and the staring eyes peeking over the edge of the driver's side doorframe.

Millie. Held captive by her fear of Julio Ruiz's overwhelmingly _exotic_ presence.

Rossi took pity on the woman who really didn't mean any insult or harm. She was just completely out of her element. He went down the porch steps. With a casual nod at Reid and Ana standing at the gate, he strolled past Julio. The Palero was immersed in his own world and either failed to notice anyone around him, or chose to exercise diplomacy and ignore them.

Millie's eyes widened even more when Rossi approached the car. He tried the handle and found she'd locked herself in.

"It's alright, Millie." He raised his voice enough to be heard over the strength of Ruiz's chants as well as the faint murmur of the crowd. "You can come out now." Her eyes tracked back to Julio and she gave Rossi a small, tense shake of her head.

Her voice, when it came, was muffled by the thickness of the glass between them. "I think I'll just wait here. I, uh…I wouldn't want to, uh,… _interrupt_ whatever Mr. Roolies is doing."

When Rossi smiled, he tried to look understanding and encouraging, rather than amused. "Millie, I'm right here. I'll escort you into your house. There's really nothing to be afraid of." It wasn't so much his words as the courtly way he took a step back and extended his hand, palm up, ready to receive hers, that decided Millie. That, and everyone watching Mr. Roolies would also see her holding hands with the distinguished, gentlemanly Mr. Rosie…_Dave!_

A muffled _thunk_ told Rossi she'd unlocked the door. His profiler's intuition told him part of the reason she'd done so was the picture they would make for her friends and neighbors. His kind heart forgave her desire to posture before them. _I mean, really…how many chances does she get to do this kind of thing?_

To Millie's everlasting delight,…_Dave!_...handed her out of the car, scooped her groceries into his strong arms and still managed to look elegantly protective. She hooked a hand in the crook of one of his laden arms and, head high, allowed him to escort her. Rossi made sure he imposed himself between Millie and Ruiz's activities. He also made sure they moved slowly. It was more like a processional than a simple walk up the steps to the front door, giving everyone time to notice. And providing ample photo ops.

Once indoors, Rossi deposited the grocery bags on a kitchen counter. Millie beamed when he offered to help her unpack them. When she announced she'd be providing dinner as well as breakfast, he told her he enjoyed cooking, and asked if he could do anything to help.

Together, they made small talk, working side by side to prepare the meal. Rossi kept silent when he saw what she intended to do to 'liven up' Julio's food, and make it 'more in keeping with what he's probably used to.'

For her part, Millie marveled at Rossi's helpfulness and perfect manners. And when he worked it into the conversation that she shouldn't bother about any extra care for Agent Hotchner after all…that he, Dave, would take care of everything…she made polite, acquiescent noises.

But deep in her heart she knew he was just being nice. She vowed to rise earlier than ever and have the convalescing agent well-cared for indeed by the time Mr. Rosie…_Dave!_...woke up.


	30. Bath Time

After months of shallow, disrupted sleep and dream deprivation, Hotch's mind and body surrendered to the luxury of normal slumber. Or, _almost_ normal slumber.

He was deeply, completely dead to the world for nearly twelve hours. He might have slept even longer, but circumstances conspired against him. Still, he didn't begin to wake up until he felt cold. Then, semi-conscious, he flailed about with one arm, trying to find some sort of blanket or sheet to pull over his shivering flesh. His eyes only opened when someone caught his wrist and firmly pressed it back down by his side. Whoever was restraining him was making reprimanding, yet affectionately maternal, clucking noises the whole time.

"Goodness gracious! Such a fuss!" He felt something damp scrubbing across his stomach. "It's just a sponge bath after all! No need to get all jumpy about it!"

Hotch's eyes flew open to see a somewhat rumpled-looking Millie leaning over his lower body, puffing and muttering as she swabbed him down with what looked like a kitchen sponge. For one horrible moment he thought he was naked. No sooner did he realize that he still had the sanctity of his boxers than he felt fingers hook under the waistband.

"Now, we're almost done. Tha-a-at's a good boy…" It sounded as though she was talking to herself more than anyone else. That, or a very, very young child.

_She doesn't know I'm awake!_ _Jeez, how long has she been doing this to me?! _

There was no time to lose in alerting her to the fact that he was conscious, but somehow Hotch didn't think this woman would stop in the pursuit of accomplishing her allotted task even if he spoke up. He opted for action over words. He curled onto his side, bringing his knees up, protecting himself from Millie's well-meaning hands. He followed through by rolling completely off the mattress, ending with the bed as a barrier between him and his ad hoc nurse. From a crouched position, Hotch looked over the edge of the quilt that had covered him until his hostess decided it was bath time. He tried to give her his best baleful, don't-touch-me glare as he looked up at her, but alarm and confusion were uppermost in his too-wide eyes.

For her part, Millie had been almost finished with what she considered a necessary part of caring for the sick and injured. She'd planned on wiping down what she referred to with prim delicacy as his 'boy parts,' and then bringing in a breakfast fit for a king. Despite the doctor's admonition last night that she was stuffing his patient to an early grave, Millie approved of hearty appetites and heavier men. And the one currently under her care needed feeding up in the worst way.

Hotch's escape maneuver took her by surprise.

Millie screamed when the limp, supine body suddenly jack-knifed off the bed.

Her scream roused Rossi. And everyone else.

Gentleman that he was, the night before, when he'd seen how their hostess planned on solving the one-too-many guests issue, Rossi had insisted on taking his rest downstairs on a rather uncomfortable, horsehair loveseat in the parlor. Millie's quiet, early-morning movements had gone unnoticed. Her shrill scream was another matter.

Rossi threw off the afghan Millie had provided him…proudly confiding that she'd crocheted it herself…and bounded up the stairs. Doors opened along the hallway as the others responded to the noise. If the scream hadn't done the job, Rossi's pounding footsteps would have. Running past the sleepy faces and mumbled questions of his comrades, he overshot the doorway to Hotch's room, pulling himself back as one hand scrabbled for purchase on the doorjamb.

Breathless, he stood in the doorway and took in the scene.

It looked like a standoff. And it was hard to say whose face showed the most alarm. The way Hotch was crouching on the floor at the far side of the bed, Rossi couldn't tell if he was naked. He sincerely hoped not. He took in the bucket of water and the sponge in Millie's hand. _Oh, no. Poor Aaron…_

Rossi entered the room. The others clustered about in the entry, curious to know what the screaming was about. The B&B proprietress recovered first. Still clutching the dripping sponge, Millie turned tragic eyes and quavering voice toward her audience.

"D-Dave, he scared me. You said he needed help b-bathing. I was just h-helping him and he…he…_flew_ off the bed."

Rossi was torn. The whole thing really was his fault. He wanted to go to the distraught woman and comfort her, tell her it was alright, that Aaron could be a very scary guy sometimes. But the look Hotch was giving him from where he'd taken cover made him want to disassociate himself from whatever had happened to his boss at Millie's hands.

Hotch's eyes narrowed. His brows drew closer. When he stood up, gradually unfolding his length, Rossi was relieved to see boxers still hugging his hips. But he was in full wolf-eye mode.

Rossi opted for self-preservation.

"I said he _didn't_ need any special help. Remember? Last night in the kitchen?"

Millie sniffled and backed up a few steps from the imposing, still damp, man who'd frightened her.

"I thought you were just being p-polite, Dave. Be…because _before_ that you said he'd need, oh, I don't remember exactly, but…all _sorts_ of help!"

There was a muffled snort of derision from the group in the doorway. Rossi was pretty sure it was Reid. He was more concerned with how Hotch hadn't blinked for quite some time.

He could almost see the thought bubble forming above the Unit Chief's head. He didn't need to be telepathic to read it.

_That's __**it**__, Dave…Strike three: giving her my card, letting her bury me in food…and now…__**this**__._ Rossi could feel the eyes shooting dark energy at him. _Payback's a bitch, Rossi…_

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Despite the early morning drama, Millie's B&B routine managed to get back on track without too much trouble.

Rossi ushered everyone out of Hotch's room. He remained behind to make sure his friend's go-bag had been brought in and he had everything he needed. He knew he was being a little over-solicitous, but he was genuinely concerned about how Hotch was feeling this morning. Other than embarrassed. Other than rudely awakened. Other than vengeful.

When he was certain the younger agent was in good shape, Rossi made one last attempt to save himself from retribution by minimizing the importance of Millie's invasion of Hotch's privacy. He stood in the doorway on the point of leaving.

"Well….no harm done, right, Aaron? At least she didn't get your boxers off."

Hotch's voice, when he responded, was chilly. "When I woke up, her hand was halfway into them, Dave. She might not have seen me, but she definitely got a feel for the lay of the land." Hotch fixed him with another glare. "Did you notice that sponge was _abrasive_ on one side?"

Rossi swallowed.

"No. No, I didn't. Uh,…I'll see you downstairs, Aaron."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breakfast was convivial.

Millie went all out and provided a wide selection of dishes ranging from eggs done to order, to oatmeal, to waffles, to fried ham with biscuits and gravy. The only item that occasioned a raised eyebrow or two was the dish of shaved coconut that she discreetly placed at Julio's elbow. The Palero wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it, but he smiled at his hostess and nodded his gratitude for such special consideration.

Hotch kept fidgeting with the beads around his wrist until both Reid and Ruiz told him to stop.

"How long am I supposed to wear this?"

"Until I tell you it's okay to take it off." Reid seemed completely acclimated to his own bracelet.

"Listen to your friend." Julio watched Hotch for a few minutes. Finally he threw down his napkin and went to the agent's side. Grabbing his wrist, he pushed the strand of beads inside Hotch's shirt cuff and worked them partway up his arm. "There. Now no one will see and they will not interfere with your work." He placed the arm down on the tabletop. Taking hold of Hotch's chin, he forced eye contact. "Every time you feel like removing it, abandoning Elegua's protection, remember where you were…and what shared the space with you."

Hotch's eyes grew shadowed as he tried hard _not_ to think about what he'd come to know as the inside of his own mind. Or the…things…that had hunted him there. He pulled his chin free, but, looking down, he nodded. Rossi noticed he didn't seem to have much appetite after that.

Although Hotch was subdued for the rest of the meal, Reid and Julio were verging on exuberant. When the subject of leaving arose, both were quick to object.

"Not yet," Reid began. "I really need to talk to the doctor first." He was reluctant to go into detail about the true nature of the hospital without express permission to do so from the man who ran the place.

"Me, too." Ruiz put his own agenda on the table. "Last night when I thanked Elegua and my saint for their help, I was told to speak with him as well."

Rossi had called Quantico the previous evening to let the rest of the team know Hotch was recovered and they'd be making the trip home soon. Now he pulled out his phone, ready to call home with news of an additional delay. He looked over to where their hostess was replenishing cups of coffee.

"Miss Millie, do you think you could stand us for a little while longer? Another night maybe?"

Millie's shining eyes were all the answer he needed.

Her radiant look wasn't lost on Hotch.

His eyes didn't shine at all. It was more like a calculating glint.


	31. Payback, Part I

After breakfast, Ana, Reid and Julio wanted to go to the hospital to see if the doctor was on duty. More specifically, they wanted to know if he'd agree to an in-depth question-and-answer session.

But when they stepped out onto the porch, they found that _they_ were the ones who were the source of curiosity for Millie's neighbors. Cameras snapped and murmured conversation filtered over the white picket fence surrounding the B&B's front yard. Evidence of Ruiz's activities of the previous night were the focal point until the three appeared.

The Palero descended the steps, scanning the small bevy of onlookers as he went to the corner where he'd conducted yesterday's ceremony. Carefully, with reverence, he gathered the burnt-down candle stubs and dismantled the structure built of sticks propped against each other, conscious all the while of camera flashes going off behind him. When he had laid everything in a neat pile, he turned to confront the spectators, ready to bear the brunt of their judgment, knowing whatever they said would likely spring from ignorance, superstition, and the fear of things strange and unknown.

He was aware of Reid and Ana taking their places beside him.

But all Julio saw on the faces intent on his every move was curiosity. When a small boy broke away from his mother and came to the fence, leaning as far over it as he could to attract the priest's attention, Ruiz looked at him with grave regard.

Reid took a step closer. Most of the people didn't stand out to his augmented vision, but a few did. This child was one of them. A faint, but distinctive violet field spread from him. What especially struck Reid was the occasional gold sparkling effect that shot through it.

"Hey, Mister? Are you gonna do it again tonight?" The boy's face was eager. "Will the same ones come to you that did last night? Will they?"

Julio stepped up to the fence and looked down, frowning. Gradually, a smile appeared, working its way into a full-on grin. "You see them. The _orishas_."

The boy's voice was softer now that he had this man's undivided attention. "They're scary. But I wanna see them again. Will you do that thing tonight? Please?"

The boy's mother reached out and pulled him to her. "He doesn't mean to be rude. He's just at that age where he has lots of questions. It's a phase."

The Palero's eyes still held the child's. "He is not rude. And, Elegua willing, it is not a phase, but the start of a lifetime's learning." His next words were for the boy. "The _orishas_ do not come to me unless they have reason. I will not call to them again until there is need. Do you understand this?"

The child's grin echoed Julio's. He nodded vigorously. "But it's okay if I watch anyway? In case you do?" The look he gave Ruiz was one most boys his age reserved for super-heroes. "Hi. My name's Bobby."

"I am Julio." After a moment's consideration, he ruffled the boy's hair.

Ana felt most of the tension in the crowd drain away at the friendly, fatherly gesture. When Ruiz opened the gate and stepped out onto the sidewalk, he was given plenty of room, but Ana sensed people moved back out of respect more than fear. _This is a town that's used to that old doctor. I guess they've gotten used to people like…us…as well._

As the onlookers dispersed to their daily routines, the trio walked at a leisurely pace toward the hospital; all three aware that little Bobby was trailing after them at a discreet distance, eyes shining with hero-worship.

xxxxxxxxxx

Once again, Rossi volunteered to help Millie in the kitchen. His offer to assist in cleaning up after breakfast was more about avoiding Hotch than about spending time with their hostess.

The Unit Chief watched them until he was sure they would be busy for a while. He wanted to have some privacy upstairs. He hadn't shaved for days and, despite Millie's tender ministrations, he still wanted a real shower with real soap and shampoo. And he wanted something else: time alone with Rossi's go-bag. Although the older agent had slept in the parlor, he'd left his bag in the room that had originally been assigned to him, but was now Ruiz's.

For his part, Rossi may have been drying dishes and keeping up his end when it came to small talk, but he still had one eye trained on Hotch. He saw him ascend the staircase, sending furtive glances toward the kitchen as he went. Millie noticed his distraction.

"Dave? Is everything alright?"

Rossi brought himself back from watching Hotch slink upstairs. "Everything's fine. I was just wondering how our boss was doing."

"Oh!" She pulled her hands from the soapy water, flicking bits of lather across her aproned bosom. "How selfish of me! Taking up your time when the poor boy _does_ still need care, doesn't he?" A fond look came into her eyes. "You were just trying to spare his male ego before, weren't you? What a sensitive, kind man you are, Dave!"

Rossi was about to suggest he go see if Hotch needed help…_see what the slinking weasel is up to…_when a clanking noise interrupted their conversation.

"Oh, don't mind that." Millie tried to explain away the alarmed look that crossed her guest's face. "That's just the pipes in this old house. Your Mr. Hutchiner must be taking a shower." She gave Rossi's arm an affectionate pat with one wet hand. "I'll just look in on him and see if he needs any help, poor thing."

"NO!" Rossi's response was a little too quick for courtesy, but just right for incipient panic. He hurried to mask it. "I mean, I'm sure he'll be fine. It's important to him to do things on his own. Let's just finish up here and then I'll check on him." He saw more explanation was needed; Millie's eyes were filled with the need to validate her nursing skills. "It's not you, Miss Millie. He's a very shy man. Especially when it comes to, uh, being exposed in front of a lady like yourself."

"Ahhh." Their hostess nodded with sage understanding. "Well, _that's_ something he'll need to get past if he ever wants to form a…close…relationship with someone special." She gave Rossi a sidelong look. "I'm sure someone like _you_ could give him some pointers." Rossi noticed she was batting her eyes in a way that made him think of coquettes of bygone eras.

Either that or she suffered from dry eye syndrome.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch let the shower run and padded down the hall to the room containing Rossi's bag. He only needed a few seconds to find the elegant, enameled cardholder containing Dave's business cards. He knew from having seen the foyer display that Millie already had one.

But this one would be different. And so much nicer for her.

With careful precision, Hotch wrote Rossi's home phone number on the back. After a moment's consideration, during which he remembered every detail of Millie's exploration inside his boxers…and Dave's part in encouraging the encounter… he added three, little words.

Taking the card with him, he listened in the hallway. Rossi and the B&B proprietress were still chatting. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but their voices told him he was safe from discovery. Bare feet soundless on the carpeted hall floor, he went to the room he knew to be Millie's.

He had an anxious moment when he turned the porcelain doorknob and heard a stiff, creaking. But the conversational murmur downstairs didn't falter, so he continued his mission to deliver the business card in a meaningful way that would speak to a lady of Millie's sensibilities.

Hotch hesitated just inside her door. The room was redolent of potpourri. He stifled a sneeze when the cloud of fragrance hit the sensitive hairs inside his nose. Figurines and picture frames covered every surface in an homage to Victorian ornamentation.

He approached the canopied bed with its plush, mauve velvet duvet and abundance of pillows and bolsters. It was easy to see on which one Millie chose to lay her head each night. For a moment, Hotch had second thoughts. But he knew Rossi. Millie was in no danger of being hurt by this portion of his payback plan. If he'd thought otherwise, he wouldn't have proceeded.

Hotch proceeded.

He slipped the card under Millie's pillow, careful to make sure a corner was visible, poking out from beneath the satin and lace trim. She'd know Dave had been in her bedroom. Put his hand where she rested and dreamt…something of an intimacy in Millie's estimation, he was sure.

And when she read the back of the card… 'Call me, please'…she'd hear Rossi's voice whispering to her. And when she dialed the number and realized it _wasn't_ the official office number…the number he'd left as the only means of contact during his last visit, she'd know the hand of friendship…or more…had been extended.

Business card safely deployed, Hotch backed out of the fussy, frilly bedroom.

_**That's**__ for picking my pocket and giving her __**my**__ card, Dave._

There was still the matter of nearly being fed to death, and, of course, the hand-in-the-boxers incident. But Hotch was satisfied for the moment. The next step could wait until he was back in Quantico.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Down in the kitchen, the dishes were done. Rossi felt a shiver traverse his spine. Millie noticed.

"Dave? Are you chilly? Should I turn on the furnace?"

Rossi gave her his best, most charming smile. "No, but thank you. You're a very considerate hostess, Millie. I'm fine. I just think I'll go check on Hotch." _And see what the scrawny, little weasel's doing behind my back._ _I've been at this business a lot longer than you have, Aaron. And I know you like I've raised you. You're up to something._

xxxxxxxxxxx

Over at the hospital, the doctor paused in his rounds. He lifted his head in the direction of Millie's B&B with the air of someone listening, as though he were trying to catch the faint lilt of music.

After a moment, he smiled, resuming his daily routine. If his FBI patient was feisty enough to engage in the kind of horseplay he sensed taking place within Millie's proper walls, then he was well and truly recovered from his ordeal.

_But the boy doesn't know what he's up against. There's a reason why, throughout time, he's been relegated to the son's position rather than the father's. Still, it'll be interesting to see if the tables are turned this time around. After all, __**this**__ time they're not biologically father and son. Bit of a wild card situation. Should be interesting…_


	32. We Begin

When Reid, Ana and Julio entered the hospital lobby this time, the night receptionist was gone. But when they were greeted telepathically by her replacement, they weren't as shocked.

Ana squeezed Spencer's hand. _The woman on night duty must have told her the cat's out of the bag. I guess it's safe for everyone to 'talk' to us now._

Julio, on the other hand, was delighted to make the discovery that here was yet another person with whom he could communicate mentally. Wreathed in smiles, he fairly radiated joy.

Reid watched a veritable rainbow of colors flare from the Palero priest. Releasing Ana's hand, he walked back to the main entry and looked outside.

The little boy, Bobby, was loitering on the sidewalk, happy to be trailing in the steps of his new hero, Julio. Reid still saw the child's pale violet aura shot with sprays of gold. He looked up and down the street. Most people appeared normal, but every so often a shimmer of color would surround someone. Reid had read about those who claimed they could see and interpret auras, could ascertain a person's health or discern their emotional state, even predict their future. He'd lumped such claims in with what he termed psychics-on-command. They were the ones who were so adept at reading the minutiae others didn't even notice, and so skilled at verbal tap dancing, they _did_ seem to have supernatural powers. Growing up in Vegas, Reid had been able to observe all kinds of gimmicky floor shows and talented tricksters. He was banned from most casinos. Although people assumed it was because of his intellectual ability to overcome gambling odds, a secondary reason was that he'd delighted in showing up celebrity psychics as frauds and humiliating them before large audiences.

Reid still thought most of those performers were fakes, but now he had to admit to a grain of doubt. _Good Lord. I'm one of them now._ For a brief, but ludicrous moment, he envisioned himself standing on a stage, cloaked and top-hatted, Ana by his side in the requisite sequin-studded leotard. He shook his head and the image faded. _The thing is, I don't see auras around everyone. Just a few_. Reid turned back to face the lobby and the rest of the hospital's interior. _And I see them around places? That doesn't make any sense._

_It will._

The distinctive, deep feel of the doctor's 'voice' intruded on his thoughts. By the way Ana and Julio were looking left and right, Reid was sure they'd heard it, too. A low chuckle accompanied the old physician's next words. _I see you all have questions. Fortunately, I have a light schedule today. Unless an emergency presents itself, we can spend some time trying to find you some answers._ The small trill of emotion Ana picked up told her that watching others find answers was one of the doctor's favorite pastimes. He was looking forward to it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi left Millie ensconced at her kitchen table, surrounded by recipe cards, happily planning menus for her guests' extended stay. He excused himself, saying he wanted to see how poor, so-recently-ill, Mr. Hotchner was faring on his own.

He crept up the stairs with professional stealth until he was sure he heard the shower running. _He's been in there a while. _Rossi's eyes narrowed. _Unless he's been running the water as a cover for __**other**__ activities._ But Hotch was a man who was very serious about his personal grooming._ He did go longer than usual without a shower or shave. He could just be reveling in getting back to normal._ He stopped outside the bathroom door and listened, reassuring himself that Hotch wasn't going to emerge for several minutes at least.

Rossi hesitated with his hand on the doorknob to his friend's room, feeling a little ashamed of being so suspicious. Then he remembered the look Hotch had when he'd slunk his way up the stairs, and all shame vanished. He opened the door and stood on the threshold, profiler's eyes raking the interior for any sign, any clue that mischief might have been accomplished. Nothing.

Pulling the door closed, he went to the room that had been his originally; the room that still contained his go-bag. Again, he scanned the area for anything out of place. When nothing was immediately apparent, he went to his bag and stood over it. Tilting his head to inspect the innocent piece of luggage from different angles, Rossi had to admit that he wouldn't know if Hotch had tampered with it. Not by sight, anyway. He teased it open and didn't see anything to further arouse his already rampant suspicions. _But that doesn't mean anything. For a scrawny weasel, he's a smart boy._

Rossi decided to remove temptation and take his bag downstairs where, if he couldn't keep a constant watch over it, it would at least be harder for anyone to meddle with it without being seen. He wasn't sure what Hotch might do with it, but it seemed prudent to keep himself and all his possessions under guard at the moment. Holding the bag securely closed, he stepped out into the hall.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch turned off the water and sighed with contentment.

He felt good. Better than he had in a long, long time. It was more than clearing his mind of Reid's psychic traces. He couldn't put a label to it, but he was sure that strange, old doctor who made him feel like an unruly adolescent in his presence, had something to do with it.

After a satisfying, hot shower, with one of Millie's wonderful, soft towels wrapped around his waist and the scent of her sandalwood guest soap lingering on his skin, Hotch was ready to forgive the woman for any embarrassment she'd caused him. _She meant well. Probably wouldn't have come anywhere near me if Dave hadn't egged her on in some way._

He even considered leniency for Rossi. Then he looked in the mirror over the bathroom sink and saw how pale and drawn he looked despite feeling fine on the inside. _Naaaaaahhh._ Rossi deserved something in return. _And I deserve a little payback pick-me-up._

Snugging the towel a little tighter, Hotch stepped out into the hall.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Aaron!" Rossi was clutching his go-bag to him almost as securely as Hotch was holding his towel closed.

"Da-a-a-ave? Where are you going?" Hotch raised his chin, looking at his friend through half-lidded eyes. "I thought we were staying another night."

"We are. I'm just taking my stuff downstairs."

"Why?"

"Because that's where I'm sleeping." _And because you're a skinny, slinking weasel and I know you're about to do something, if you haven't already._ "You're looking better, Aaron. How're you feeling?"

"I look like hell." _And don't try to change the subject._ "But I do feel a lot better…now…" And Hotch let a long, slow, toothy grin slide into place across his angular features.

_Oh, crap! He's gone fox-faced! He's already done it, whatever it is!_ Rossi's bag made a defeated thump when he dropped it to the floor. It didn't matter where he left his luggage. It was too late.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a strange sensation, following the doctor's telepathic voice. They found him in his private office toward the rear of the building. Clearly, he'd been expecting them. Three comfortable chairs were drawn up to a low table bearing coffee service and pastries.

_Welcome. Sit. Be comfortable._ The elderly face, creased with wrinkles denoting mirth more than sorrow, smiled a warm welcome. When Reid, Ana and Julio were seated, the doctor set out a few rules of conduct before allowing any discussion to begin.

"I'm going to ask that we all engage in verbal communication for this conversation." Reid and Ana looked curious. Julio looked a little disappointed. The ability was so new to him, he looked forward to every opportunity to exercise it.

"To answer your first question before you ask it: at the moment I have a patient whose mental shielding is severely impaired. I've set my own around him to give him the peace he needs to heal, but if I get caught up in 'talking' with you three, there's a good chance our voices will bleed over into his awareness." The doctor gave an apologetic shrug. "Normally, it wouldn't be a problem for me to keep him separated, but holding onto your friend, your Aaron, drained me. I haven't quite recovered yet." He laughed, more to himself than his visitors. "I guess I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Second, if I choose to leave something unanswered, you should accept my judgment in the matter." He inclined his head toward Reid and Ana. "You two already know there are questions, the answers to which you must discover without my aid." Leaning back in the chair behind his desk, the doctor folded his arms. "Third, our time is defined by the needs of my patients. If I depart rather abruptly, don't take offense. It will have nothing to do with you."

Once more, he looked from face to face. "Are we agreed on the ground rules?"

Three heads nodded. Three voices murmured assent in various pitches and accents.

"Good. We begin."


	33. Lineage

"Who are you really?""What is this place?"How old are you?"

The questions were simultaneous, running over and around and through each other until the doctor held up a hand, imposing silence on his three visitors.

"I see there's another hurdle for those of us who aren't used to group communication of the verbal variety, and, therefore, another ground rule: one at a time, please." He turned eyes brimming with good humor on Ana. "Ladies first. Empath, what is your most burning question?"

Ana blinked, there were so many things she wanted to ask. Faced with them all, she was hard-pressed to rate which was 'most burning.' And though the words were said with ironic humor, she wanted to choose well. So, she changed her mind a dozen times within a split second, and watched amusement play across the old man's features. _We're talking normally, but he's still reading us._ His smile grew wider. True to her nature, Ana cut off her inner debate and plunged in, picking a question that she hoped would cover several points of interest in the course of being answered.

"How did this place come to be?"

"Ah." The doctor closed his eyes for a moment. When he resumed looking at his audience, some of the mirth had gone out of his expression. "No doubt my response will raise more questions. I ask you to save them until I've told you the story of…" He gazed upward and around. "…this institution, this hospital, this…sanctuary." Lifting his own cup of coffee, he moistened his lips, giving himself time to gather his thoughts. Or maybe to send them farther back in time than he had for a long while.

"I was there. When they tortured and burned innocents under the name of 'witch,' I was there." He ignored Ana's gasp, Reid's widened eyes, Julio's look of sorrow. "My gifts were fully developed even then. I was already old, but not yet as aged as you see me. And my chosen path was one of healing." He nodded toward the Palero, acknowledging a colleague with similar interests.

"All the pain and needless horror, I felt it from leagues away. Souls in torment called to me. I couldn't deny them. I had to answer. But what I saw when I found them…" His voice lost some of its vibrant timbre.

Although they were not using telepathy, Ana felt immeasurable grief. Not the grief of losing a loved one, but something so much larger. Her eyes teared up at this man's pure and depthless sorrow for all of humanity; his regret for the tremendous amount of effort and energy it expended to destroy itself; his desire to counteract mankind's destructive impulses.

Reid and Julio caught mental images of a hillside studded with poles driven deep into the earth. Flames danced around the bases of some, not quite obscuring the twisting, writhing figures whose flesh bubbled and melted, fusing to bone. Others were surrounded by cold ash, blackened remains left to lie unsanctified, unmourned. The visions were more horrible for being silent. Ruiz and Reid exchanged glances.

"I couldn't stop what was happening, so I did what I could to ease their passing. For days, weeks, I remained hidden, waiting for the next victim. And the next. And the next. And the groups. And the families. And the children. Especially the children." A few heartbeats of silence fell into the conversation; acknowledgment of that most terrible of losses…a life unlived…cut short.

"I touched each soul and let it cry out its agony, let it give me the worst, sharpest edges of its fear and pain. And, at the end, I passed whatever hand I was holding into another, larger, stronger one. I couldn't see where they went, but I knew they were finally safe. I could surrender my care of them at the last.

"You know of these times. They are part of your history. But you only know the recorded kills, the names and verdicts jotted down in parody of arrest and trial. There were more. So many more. Throughout the countryside, the madness spread. Anyone strange, anyone different or disliked was fair game. Communities weeded out their undesirables in the name of 'witch.' Officially undocumented, they still called to me. I followed the trail of torture and death farther and farther. Unaware of my own physical needs, I neglected my body and let it starve. The turmoil others projected into my mind overrode considerations for my own health and survival." The doctor paused, taking a sip of his coffee, a distant look in his eyes.

"Eventually, the calling of souls waned, then stopped. By then, I was far from where I'd started, and very close to death. I didn't mind. As long as the screaming was over, nothing, not even my own end, seemed unendurable. But there were consequences for what I'd done that went far beyond my deprived body." The old eyes came back from the past and focused on Reid. "I was like your friend, your Aaron. The worst pieces of pain, the most terrible regrets and fears of all those tortured souls remained with me.

"But where your ungifted friend was helpless, I, with my considerable gifts, could resist." His smile was grim. "Helping your friend was hard. It brought back so much. But maybe that's why he was sent my way. Remembering past torment, also recalls past strength. The torment passes. The resultant strength …remains."

Silence reigned for a few moments. The old man seemed to be considering the veracity of his own words; testing them to see if they still held true.

Ana stirred. Her voice was soft. "What happened next?"

This time the doctor's grin was genuinely warm with remembrance. "I wandered. I was so depleted, so nearly gone, I didn't know why I kept going. In hindsight, I believe some power was guiding me, but to this day I don't know if it was some aspect of my own abilities…a subconscious refusal to lie down and die…or a power from without."

"_Elegua_…" Julio's whisper ghosted over the doctor's words without interrupting them.

"I ended up…" He spread his hands wide in a gesture inclusive of not only the hospital, but the entire area. "…here." The hands dropped. "This facility didn't exist, of course, nor did this settlement. But there was a woman. Widowed. Childless. She found me and took me in. I was months in healing. Where your Aaron would have succumbed, I used my abilities to clean out the residue of anguish and horror from my own mind. My hostess looked after my physical well-being, freeing me to concentrate on my mental needs. Eventually, I healed." The doctor paused again, leaning back with a fond look playing in the depths of his eyes.

Ana felt more than fondness emanating from him. "What happened to her? To the woman?" A wave of love engulfed her, communicating more than words ever could.

"We stayed together for the rest of her days. We had children and grandchildren and more generations after that. But by then, she had passed on. And, yes, empath…I loved her dearly. I had never been happier than in this place. So I built this facility, knowing there are others with special gifts who sometimes need a peaceful venue to restore themselves, to heal. I know how to send out a call that touches our kind. Whether they recognize the call or not, those in need manage to find their way here." He nodded at Reid. "As did you and your friend. But I also stay here to watch over the last of my descendants." A pensive look passed over the worn features.

"Some of our progeny were gifted. They went out into the world and their lines continue on, independent of their origins. The ungifted tended to remain here." He sighed and closed his eyes, seeing a long-gone, but never forgotten, beloved face.

"Catherine was the love of my life. And to this day, I watch over the last of our descendants who remains here. She has no gift of mine, but she has her many-times-great grandmother's desire to care for strangers."

The first to put the pieces together, Julio's belly-laugh was deep and joyous. "Millie!"

The doctor's smile gave way to an affectionate chuckle.

"Yes. Millie."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A short distance away, Millie looked up from her recipe cards as Rossi trudged down the stairs, looking less than happy.

"Dave? Something's bothering you! Is Mr. Hutchiner alright?"

Rossi sighed. "I think 'Mr. Hutchiner' is completely back to his old self. I don't think we need to worry about 'Mr. Hutchiner' anymore."

Millie's eyes went soft with concern. "Well, then what about you? How about a nice cup of chamomile tea?"

Rossi paused, considering. _Actually, that sounds good._ "I think I'd like that. Thank you, Miss Millie." He watched her bustle about her kitchen, assembling a proper tea tray with delicate cups and saucers, painted with pink roses and sprays of violets. And he smiled. He'd forgotten how pleasant it could be to have no pressing business, no deadlines, no cases crying for attention. He'd forgotten what it was like to share the company of someone innocent of the darkness which made his profession necessary. Regrettably necessary.

A restful cup of tea with this uncomplicated woman was just what he needed.

When Hotch descended the stairs and heard the light laughter and chatter in the parlor…when he turned the corner and saw Rossi thoroughly enjoying himself, listening to Millie's tales of small-town society…he was forced to reassess his payback plan.

But Hotch's was a fertile mind. There were lots of ways to make Rossi uncomfortable. _Although I doubt they'd be on the level of waking up with a stranger's hand in your underwear._


	34. Three Questions

The doctor paused to top off his cup of coffee, surveying his audience as he did so.

They were appropriately quiet, absorbing the story he hadn't told for so long, he was surprised he remembered it in such detail. Once he'd begun and committed himself to the telling, it had been as though he were separated from the reality by days, rather than centuries. He allowed himself to take readings on the three sitting before him.

The empath's and the telepath's reactions were running along predictable lines. One was letting herself get mired in the emotional fallout; the horror, the loss, the sorrow and pain. The other was applying intellect, bolstering his relatively new talents by running those he'd been using _all_ his life alongside them. He was analyzing the tale and fleshing it out with statistics and data that were part of the tremendous store of mostly-dormant knowledge residing within his extraordinary memory.

The priest was older than the other two. He wasn't caught up in sympathizing. He was reviewing scenes from his own life and wondering how they would have played out if he'd been able to help and heal along the lines the doctor had.

_As painful as he knows my experience was, he wishes to be able to do the same. He puts service to others ahead of his own welfare._

The doctor did a quick, private mental check on his patients, particularly the one who required shielding. Satisfied that they weren't in need of his immediate attention, he resumed his seat, freshened coffee steaming.

"Telepath, your turn. What would you like to ask me?"

Reid stored away the calculations and comparisons he'd been running, perfectly preserved so he could pick them up at a later time without missing a beat. He found himself in a quandary similar to Ana's. With so many, which question was most pressing, most deserving of an answer? He realized that, although knowing the past was enlightening and fascinating, he was more concerned with the present and his own newly-discovered talents. He wanted to know more about his place in this strange subset of humanity.

"Since cutting off contact with Hotch, I'm seeing…auras, I guess. But only around some people and places. I thought I'd gone blind, but when my sight returned, it was _different_. Why?"

The doctor smiled. _Typical of a young man. The woman was curious about things beyond her…beyond her time and experience. The male puts himself at the center of his world. These two mesh well. One looks outward, one looks inward. But…that could be because this young man has been lonely, forced to rely on his own company for most of his life._

Before speaking, the old man rose, came around his desk and stood in front of Reid, looking down at him. Reid remained seated, looking up, eyes questioning. The doctor held up one hand.

"May I?"

Reid wasn't sure _what_ he was giving permission for when he nodded. But he closed his eyes without reservation when gentle fingers touched their lids, bowing his head slightly. After a silent moment, Reid felt the man's touch move beneath his chin, raising his head. He opened his eyes to the doctor's smile. "Your new vision reveals those with talents, whether realized or incipient." He walked back around his desk and lowered himself into his chair before continuing.

"People, especially people like us, leave residual psychic energy throughout their lives. For some, it marks traumatic events. For others, it's a slow release that occurs over the span of years. The auras you see around places is your perception of that energy. When you see _this_ building from outside, does it strike you as a sort of hotspot when it comes to auras?"

Reid nodded. "I thought it was on fire for a moment. It's really, really bright. And there're a lot of different colors and patterns involved."

"You're probably seeing not only the energy expended by my patients and staff, but the aggregate of all those with ESP-er abilities who've ever remained within these walls. The same energy wanders the halls. Do you see auras shimmering through the interior as well?"

"I do." Frowning, Reid looked at his hands wrapped around his coffee cup. "Why can't I see my own aura? Don't I have one?"

The doctor enjoyed talking with young people. Their questions were so direct and reminded him of a simpler time when his view of the world and the life that inhabited it was less complicated; when he didn't see so clearly the intricacies of different elements and how they interlocked and affected the whole. He could tell this telepath, although a grown man, was developmentally immature when it came to his psychic gifts. It was a unique and delightful combination to field such innocent, self-centered questions, yet detect the workings of the mind behind them as one of extreme power, capable of subtle, elegant performance.

_When his gifts mature, he will be formidable indeed._

"You have an aura. As I see it, it's quite strong." The doctor inclined his head toward Ana, a gracious acknowledgement. "And it complements this young lady's very well." Reid's eyebrows rose. So did the corners of Ana's lips.

"It's not unusual to be blind to yourself when it comes to your own psychic perception. Those who can predict events for others rarely know their own future. Similarly, you're aura isn't visible to your own eyes." The doctor raised his chin and gave Reid a calculating look. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your gifts also include psychometry and retrocognition?" He didn't need to wait for a response. He could read the psychic aspects of this boy that were only a little less dominant than his telepathy. "When you touch objects or people, you can see certain experiences attached to them. When you touch your _own_ possessions, your powers reveal nothing. I've often thought that this selective sort of phenomenon was a survival tactic. Imagine how distracting it would be if you were assaulted by visions of the past every time you picked up your razor or your head hit your pillow at the end of a long day." The doctor's smile was echoed by all three of his visitors.

But Reid still wasn't done with the subject of his altered vision. He also wanted to touch on something that was a secret source of worry. While he had this fount of knowledge and experience available, he wanted to do what he could to allay his concerns.

"What about when this vision thing first started?" He took a steadying breath. "It was when I broke away from Hotch's mind. Doctor,…did I _take_ something from him? Is that why it began when it did?"

The old man sighed, compassion replacing the humor in his eyes. "Believe me when I tell you that severing the connection with your friend did him no harm." He rubbed a hand across his face, compiling his observations and calculations, what he knew of this young telepath and his circumstances, before formulating an answer. "You came late to your gifts. You thought it was jump-started by some unfortunate choices you made regarding Dilaudid."

Looking uncomfortable, Reid's eyes cut to Julio. He'd never spoken of his drug abuse in front of the Palero. He realized the man's opinion was important to him. He didn't want him to know. But Julio's eyes were fixed on the doctor. He had enough unsavory episodes in his own life that he didn't judge people based on their past errors. Reid returned his attention to the doctor.

"We know now that your psychic abilities manifested around the time your work involved the world of Palo Mayombe. From what I saw in your memories last time you were here, it was a traumatic experience where your life was endangered."

Reid shrugged. "That's not the first time my life's been threatened."

"Let me finish, young one. It _was_ the first time you were traumatized in the vicinity of a powerfully gifted psychic…" The doctor nodded toward Ruiz. "…and you were submerged in a world where such powers are close to the surface. They are accepted and are part of people's daily lives. I believe the same pattern holds here. Your journey into your friend's mind was traumatic. I sensed you would have sacrificed yourself to bring him back. And there is hardly a location in the world that could rival this one for psychic power. So you had personal trauma, and paranormal energy surrounding you, readily available…in fact, hardly avoidable.

"Those circumstances combined and gave birth to your latest gift."

Reid couldn't stop his brain from leaping, extrapolating into the future based on this latest information. "Does that mean every time I'm stressed and I'm around an excess of psychic energy, I'll…_change?_"

The doctor's chuckle was low. "You'll have to discover that for yourself, but I wouldn't worry overmuch about it, young man. There are few places in the world that could provide such power. It's remarkable that you've managed to not only find two of them, but also to engage in life-threatening activities both times. So, I'm afraid I have no definite answer for you on that score."

The old man leaned back in his chair and met Julio's intense regard.

"I need to go to my patients soon, but I wouldn't deprive you of your turn, priest." A smile played about his lips. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy what came next. When Julio's grin matched his own, he was sure of it. "Ask me, priest. Ask me your greatest, your most important question."

The Palero's teeth flashed white. "May I help you in your work?"

Across cultures and time and diversity, the two older men regarded each other in a moment of near perfect understanding.

"I was hoping you'd want to." The doctor rose and extended his hand to Julio. "Welcome. Now come with me; we have patients who need us."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Reid and Ana walked slowly back toward Millie's B&B, they were very quiet. Both were thinking of all they'd learned, and all they still didn't know.

Ana slipped her hand into Reid's. _So I guess we're going home tomorrow, Spencer?_

_I guess. But…_

_I know. There's so much more that I want to ask him, too._

They arrived at Millie's front gate and looked back at the hospital.

_We can always come back to visit. _Reid grinned. _Do you think Millie'll mind having Julio as a boarder?_

_I think they'll be fine. But maybe we should tell her she doesn't need to feed him coconut and dried mango. At least, not every day._


	35. By Any Other Name

The day was drawing to a close, shades of lavender creeping into the sky.

Hotch left the B&B and walked to the end of the road running through the center of this tiny settlement. He wanted some time to think. Alone. Without distractions like being offered tea, or being asked if he was okay, or being apologized to for waking up with a wet sponge rubbing his stomach.

Reid and Ana had returned from a session with the old doctor, but weren't saying much. They had curled up together on Millie's porch and were obviously communicating in their own private way about their own private concerns. Ruiz had still been at the hospital with the doctor when Hotch had decided to slip away by himself. Rossi and Millie were puttering about in her kitchen. Hotch smiled at the thought of two such different people finding common ground in a love of cooking. They were improvising the dinner menu and Rossi was promising to send their hostess several of his favorite Italian recipes.

Hotch didn't think anyone would miss him for a while. It was a thought that touched him with sadness and relief at the same time. He wandered past the place where the pavement ended and continued on until even the dusty, packed dirt path began to disappear into undergrowth. At the edge of the towering evergreens, he found a place to sit among the remains of an ancient, tumbled stone wall. With his back to the town, he gazed into the gathering darkness beneath the trees.

He remembered the first time he'd been here. He'd been injured and frightened. This time he supposed _damaged_ was a better description. But, again, he'd been scared. Terrified, actually.

_This is a beautiful place, but I don't enjoy it. Too many bad associations._ He sighed and winced when the deep breath brought a pain to the right side of his chest. The only strenuous thing he'd done all day was the escape maneuver upon waking when he'd evaded Millie's hands as she tried to bathe him. Apparently, the combination of sudden movement and a body chilled by the damp sponge she'd used on him had resulted in a pulled muscle in his chest wall. It was annoying, but not serious.

Still, it was an unpleasant souvenir that he would take home from this place. This peaceful, restful, scenic place that he knew he should appreciate the way it deserved.

He startled when two hands descended onto his shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. Looking directly up, he saw the kindly, wrinkled face of the man who'd kept him safe until Reid could rescue him.

"May I join you?" The doctor's hands kept up their soothing movement, the grip turning into a mini-massage.

"Of course." Hotch moved a few inches to one side, making ample room for another person.

The two men locked eyes for a moment, then the doctor shook his head and gave a rueful smile. "You do seem to require quite a bit of looking after, son." He sat down. When he reached one arm behind Hotch, pressing firmly against his right shoulder blade and then placed his other hand on the sore spot to the right of his breastbone, Hotch stiffened. Before he could speak up, the doctor shushed him.

"Shhhhhhh. This is easy to fix. You don't need to put up with the discomfort. Shhhhh."

Hotch let himself be sandwiched between the large, strong hands. He felt a vibration, almost like a current. The pain gave a sharp twist that made him gasp, and then…disappeared. Capable fingers prodded around the area, testing the quality of their work. When he was satisfied, the doctor gave Hotch a final pat and released him. He watched as his patient resumed staring at the growing dusk inside the forest. After several minutes of silence broken only by the rising night breeze and its susurration among the branches, Hotch spoke. His voice was soft, and a little hesitant.

"Thank you, doctor. For everything. For both times you've healed me…saved me…whatever it was that you did. I'm not sure I really know. But, thank you."

"You're welcome, child." The old man looped a companionable arm across Hotch's shoulders and gave him a one-armed hug. "My motives weren't completely altruistic." Hotch turned to look at him, unsure what he meant. "I like you. You remind me of someone I once knew."

"Who?"

The doctor's smile was sad. "It doesn't matter. But, there _is_ something I want you to know…to carry with you." Hotch's eyebrows rose, inviting explanation. "If, at any point in your life, you ever feel lost, or defeated, or tired of all the battles you take it upon yourself to fight, and you don't see a way through it all…I want you to come back here. I want you to keep this place tucked away in the back of your mind as a safe haven when all others fail. Can you do that?"

Hotch stared into the doctor's earnest eyes, reading the enormity of the gift he was being offered. In Hotch's world there was no safe haven. Safety was an illusion that he perpetrated so he could continue to function normally when it had been proven to him over and over in the most personal ways that nothing was certain, especially safety.

The doctor's hand resumed kneading the tense muscles of his patient's shoulder and neck. "I know what you've been through, Aaron. I know what it's done to you…" A distant look came over the careworn features. "Someone gave me a place when I needed protection once. I've tried to follow her footsteps when it comes to providing care and sanctuary. But it's never enough. It's like offering a drop of water when an ocean is needed. Still…" The voice faded for a moment as memories of a beloved face and a simpler time intruded. The doctor shook his head and returned from his private thoughts. "…Still, there's room for one more here. Remember that, Aaron."

Removing his arm from Hotch's shoulders, the doctor stood and brushed pine needles from the seat of his pants. It was such an ordinary gesture made by such an extraordinary man. It made him seem less all-powerful, more accessible.

"Doctor? You call very few people by name. But I've heard you address Millie, and you call me 'Aaron.' Why?"

"At my age, names fade quickly. They lack importance. But sometimes there is a soul attached to them that insists on being remembered." He smiled down at this solemn, young man. "Millie is of my blood. I will never forsake or forget her. And you…you remind me of someone I loved long ago, but couldn't save when he needed me." He sighed. "The longer you live, the more regrets you accumulate." His smile flashed out again. "But you also become more adept at recognizing pitfalls before they solidify into regrets. I can't complain. In the end, I've always done what I thought was best, no matter the consequences. That's something I see in you as well. It's a fine way to live." The doctor looked at the rapidly fading sunset. He turned and began to walk away. "Don't stay out too long, child…Aaron. Your friends will worry."

"Doctor?"

The old man paused, looking back over one shoulder.

"Who was he? The one I remind you of. Who was he?"

The old eyes closed. When they opened, fond memories crinkled their corners. "My brother. My youngest brother." He turned and resumed his steady pace back toward the town that had sprung up around his sanctuary. But Hotch's voice stopped him again.

"Doctor? May I know _your_ name?"

The silence lasted for several minutes. Hotch didn't know if the man was searching his memory, or formulating a polite evasion. When he did speak, there was inexplicable sadness in his reply.

"Nathaniel. But the word means nothing to me, or to anyone now living. 'Doctor' means everything to me."

Hotch nodded. "Good night…_Doctor_. And, again, thank you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch would have liked to stay longer at the edge of the woods, but the doctor had spoken truly when he'd said the others would worry. He sighed. He'd already caused enough of _that_ for one trip. Rising, he made his way back toward the B&B.

From a distance, with warm light glowing in its windows, the Victorian monstrosity looked like something out of a child's fairytale. As he got closer, he could see Rossi leaning on the porch railing, scanning the street in both directions. When he saw Hotch, his relief was visible. He waited for the Unit Chief to reach Millie's garden gate before addressing him.

"Where've you been? We were starting to worry."

"Sorry. I just went for a walk. That's all." Hotch reached the top of the porch steps and started to walk past Rossi. A friendly, but very firm grip closed around his upper arm and pulled him back.

"Aaron." Rossi looked his friend up and down, then studied his face. When Hotch tried to move forward again, he held him back. "Something's bothering you. I can tell. I can _always_ tell."

Hotch looked thoughtful. "No." He seemed very intent on memorizing his own shoes. "Maybe." The shoes showed no sign of speaking up on their own. "I don't know."

"I don't want to leave here without being sure you're ready."

Hotch took a full step backwards, relieving Rossi of the necessity to hold onto him. "I feel fine. I'm just…I don't know…" He realized he wasn't making much sense. He chewed on his bottom lip; a mannerism that was rare for him and, therefore, upped Rossi's worry-quotient dramatically. When he saw the look Rossi was giving him, Hotch tried again. "Both times I've been here, this place feels unreal. I think it's because both times I've been at less than my best. I'll be fine once we get home."

"Sure. Sure you will." Rossi placed gentle hands on the sides of Hotch's shoulders, searching his downcast eyes. "But why don't we go see that doctor once more? Would you do that?"

"Dave, I just saw him. He checked me out. I'm fine. Just a little…I don't know…" Hotch gathered himself and looked up, forcing a smile. "I think I'll just stay out here for a little bit. Don't get much chance at home to enjoy a night sky without streetlights all around."

Rossi's arms dropped to his sides. He watched his friend turn around and take a seat on the topmost step, crossing his arms against the night chill. Leaning his back against one of the posts holding up the porch roof, Hotch tilted his face toward the emerging stars.

But Rossi had the feeling he wasn't really seeing them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

From inside the B&B, Reid watched the older agents exchange words. Sensing the beginnings of concern in him, Ana came to his side. When Hotch sat down and Rossi turned to come back indoors, she rested her head against Reid's shoulder.

_He's confused, Spencer. Nothing really bad, but maybe you should talk to him._

She felt a spike in Reid's worry. _I'm not sure I can be around him yet without reaching out to his mind. It just feels so natural to do it._

Ana ran her fingers over the yellow beads encircling her fiancé's wrist. _You guys are both protected now. And you're going to have to get used to talking to him normally sooner or later. Might as well do it here where, if anything goes wrong, there are people who can fix it. Just make sure he's got that bracelet on before you start, okay?_

Reid smiled and nuzzled her hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance of almonds and cherries that he'd always associate with Ana.

Disengaging himself from her, he went out to see what he could do to soothe Hotch's troubled mind.

_Without_ 'touching' it.


	36. Empty Spaces

As Reid headed out to talk to Hotch, he passed Rossi on his way in.

"He okay?" the young agent didn't need to explain who he was talking about.

Rossi glanced back through Millie's leaded glass windows etched with clusters of grapes and curling vines, flanking the front door. "He says he is. Says he'll be fine once we get home."

"So that means he's _not_ fine now. And he knows it."

Rossi shrugged. "I asked him to see that doctor once more, but he says he just did. Got a clean bill of health." He exhaled in a frustrated gust. "Everything that goes on here is a little out of my range of experience. I don't know what to do for him except keep an eye on him. But, Reid, if we get home and he starts acting squirrely again, I swear I'll knock him out, crate him up myself, and ship him back here in an overnight FedEx box."

Reid smiled. "Ana says he's confused. Maybe I can find out what it's about."

Rossi transferred his attention to the younger agent. "Be careful. Remember how this whole thing got started."

Reid nodded and displayed the bracelet encircling his wrist. "We've got some protection now, but, yeah…I'll be careful."

Rossi patted his shoulder. "Good luck. Let me know how it goes." Shaking his head, he went back toward the kitchen where he could immerse himself in the familiar, understandable world of ingredients, temperatures, timing, and the delicious results. Cooking was safe…predictable.

_In my day 'protection' could mean a lot of things…but __**not**__ a piece of jewelry that looks like it came from some arts-and-crafts street fair._

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch heard the door open behind him. He listened to the footsteps cross the boards of the porch floor. He felt a hesitant presence hovering over him. His lips compressed, concealing amusement. He didn't need mental contact to recognize Reid's awkward, but well-meaning approach.

"I'm okay, Reid. You don't need to worry about me."

A heartbeat of silence, then the lanky body folded itself and took a seat on the step next to Hotch.

"I'm not worried. Not too much, anyway. But Ana is."

Hotch craned his neck around to see Reid's strange, empathic fiancé watching him through one of Millie's ornate, gingerbread-shuttered windows. She met his eyes without evasion or embarrassment. He smiled. She touched her fingers to the glass separating her from her two favorite men. Hotch wasn't sure, but he thought he felt a hint of warmth. Or maybe it was just the night breeze growing less chilly.

"You're a lucky man, Reid."

The younger agent's heart jumped. He realized he'd never expected anyone to say those words…not about weird, spindly, too-smart Spencer Reid. The fact that this tall, dark, handsome alpha male was saying them was the cherry-on-top. He couldn't help the grin that took over his face.

"Thanks. I never thought…well, just…thanks, Hotch."

The Unit Chief turned away. Pulling his knees up, he wrapped his arms around them, trying to hold on to that bit of warmth he'd felt. "So. When are you two going to make it official?"

Reid recognized the Hotch-tactic of deflection, of turning the conversation away from himself, making others the focal point. "Whenever Ana wants, I guess. We're in no hurry. We've already decided we're each other's first, best destiny. On a soul-deep level, we're already married."

Hotch nodded, resting his chin on top of his knees. "Like I said; you're a lucky man."

"Ana didn't send me out here to talk about wedding plans."

"Mmmmm."

"She says you're confused and maybe talking about it would help."

Silence.

Reid cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Ana. She placed her index finger against her lips and shook her head ever so slightly. _Got it. _Hotch needed time to formulate a response. Reid would give him an eternity, if it would help.

The night grew darker. More and more lights came on along the street, painting it with patches of incandescence. Reid waited. Finally, Hotch took a deep breath.

"I miss you."

Reid's heart twisted. One of the things he dreaded above all else, was causing pain for his loved ones. He'd already done that to this man who was so much more than just a boss. And now, even when he'd done the right thing and corrected his error, he was still hurting this blameless man.

"I'm sorry, Hotch." Reid watched his friend's profile. Watched the eyes close. Heard the soft voice, when it came.

"I keep _looking_ where you used to be and there's nothing there. Does that make sense?"

Reid glanced at Hotch's hands clasped around his up-drawn knees, reassuring himself the bracelet was still in place. He could just discern the outline of beads pressing outward against the fabric of Hotch's sleeve. _Maybe it's safe to touch him physically, if I keep a tight rein on touching him mentally._ He reached across Hotch's back, long fingers wrapping around his friend's far side. He could feel each breath, each rib beneath his touch, moving as the lungs alternately inflated and deflated. He let his hand rest, still and warm, against that rhythmic motion of life.

"I miss you, too, Hotch."

"Yeah, but it's different for you. You have other people to fill that empty spot. I don't."

_Oh, God. What did I do to him?_ Reid tried to imagine what it would be like if he was shorn of his telepathic powers. He thought it might not be too bad…if he could keep Ana's psychic touch. But if he ever lost that, if her presence in his mind were ever to be taken, the emptiness would consume him. He could only hope that his place in Hotch's psyche hadn't been as large, as pervasive, as Ana's was in his.

He wanted to say something comforting, but he knew whatever words he found would be meaningless noise when set against his friend's loneliness. Reid kept silent. He rubbed his hand resting on Hotch's side back and forth a few times. _Oh, hell. Like Ana said, if anything goes wrong, the people who can fix it are right here._ With no further preamble, he pulled Hotch over into a hug. And when Hotch flailed about, struggling to regain his balance, Reid just pulled him in closer and tighter.

It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Julio had stayed at the hospital long after the doctor said he himself was needed elsewhere and had left.

From his newly appointed office window, he had watched the elderly gentleman walk toward the end of town, toward the place where civilization ended and primeval forest began. The Palero sensed, without being told, that whatever was calling the doctor away was related to the man he'd helped save. The agent named Aaron.

He thrilled at the knowledge that he _could_ know such things and that his ability to do so was expanding at a phenomenal rate. Already, in one day, he felt he had learned so much his brain was pressing against its confines, bursting with information and shock and…happiness.

He was still marveling that he had made the decision to abandon his home in Miami, to begin a whole different life in this strange, northern place. There was so much to do. As he left his new workplace and walked toward the B&B, he made a mental list.

He would need to close out his old life and pass on his responsibilities to some of his followers. There was a very talented young man who still had much to learn, but who would make a capable priest once he'd gone through initiation at the hands of the same elder who'd brought Julio into Palo Mayombe. And he would need his possessions and tools of the trade shipped to him.

Julio hoped he could accomplish everything with a few phone calls. He was determined not to set foot in an airport. He never wanted to fly again. Not for all the rum and pineapple juice in the world.

As he neared Millie's house, he saw two figures huddled at the top of the porch steps. He let his senses roam forward and knew it was Reid and the doctor's patient, Aaron. The closer he got, the more turmoil he felt emanating from the pair. When Reid engulfed the other man in a crushing hug, Julio quickened his steps. He wanted to be sure both were still wearing the protective charms his _orisha_ had made them.

That, and he sensed Aaron, taken by surprise, might need a little help to extricate himself.

It was a _very_ fierce hug.

Affectionate, but fierce.

Very.


	37. Payback, Part II

The group around Millie's table that evening was the most diverse and interesting mix of people she'd ever hosted.

She made sure all the drapes were open so her neighbors could have an unimpeded view. She was even more pleased when Dave took a seat at the foot of the table…opposite hers at the head. With the other four placed along the sides, they looked like a large, happy family. She'd invited the doctor to join them, but he'd pleaded fatigue, saying he still needed to recuperate from whatever he'd done to treat the dark-haired one, Mr. Hutchiner. But, when he'd seen the look of disappointment on Millie's face, he'd agreed to join them for dessert later. In anticipation, the B&B proprietress had spent a good portion of the afternoon baking. She looked forward to the moment when she would ask Dave to help her roll in a serving trolley and unveil the towering, seven-tiered, raspberry cake with white chocolate icing that he'd helped her decorate with sugared violets from her own garden.

She'd rarely been happier.

To top it all off, Mr. Roolies had accepted a position at the hospital. He would be a permanent boarder unless he decided to set up housekeeping on his own; an unlikely prospect, since he seemed to be the type who'd prefer spending his time at work as opposed to maintaining any sort of domestic situation. Millie was already planning to erect a gazebo in the side yard where her new connection to the world of exotic dangers would be able to conduct his rites and rituals on an elevated stage, giving spectators a clear view of the proceedings.

The B&B proprietress sighed happily. Really, with the exception of the incident with shy, jumpy Mr. Hutchiner and the sponge bath, it had been the most satisfying couple of days.

xxxxxxxxxx

When the doctor arrived for dessert, he took a moment to observe Millie's guests, prominently on display through her brightly lit windows.

It had been an unusual experience having them here. He'd never encountered anyone quite like the telepath, whose talents had been jump-started at such a late age. He was curious to know how they would continue to develop. The doctor thought he might have been a little worried about the young man, if it weren't for the empath. She was a steadying influence; a point of stability in an otherwise constantly shifting and extremely dangerous world. _He's a bit like a child stumbling around with a loaded weapon. Accidents can and do happen._

He sighed. Such an accident had almost destroyed the one whose company he found so pleasant…Aaron. He watched the man who reminded him of his brother, gone so many, many years ago. Even in the midst of convivial company, even though he smiled and joined conversation, there was a melancholy quality about him. The doctor looked thoughtful. It wouldn't be quite the same as having a constant presence in his mind, but there _was_ a way to cheer Aaron up, to ease his separation anxiety from his telepathic friend. It was the main reason the doctor had agreed to come over. He really was a little tired and he didn't particularly want any dessert, but it would feel good…like a little treat for himself…to give Aaron something that might erase the sadness he was trying to mask for everyone else's benefit.

Then there was the Palero priest. The doctor had waited a long time for someone who could share his work; maybe take over one day and let him have some time away from this place. The world had changed so much since he'd come here. He was looking forward to exploring it again. This man whose name he had added to Aaron's as one worth keeping, this Julio, would not only share his burden, he would bring the unique perspective of his Palo background. They would learn from each other, each becoming more powerful as an individual by virtue of their teamwork.

Finally, there was Aaron's once-and-future father. It appeared he and Millie had struck up a friendship. The doctor sometimes worried about this last descendant of his to remain behind, cloistered away from the rest of the world. But she was genuinely happy here, having no ambition beyond preening before her peers. She could seem ridiculous and shallow, but he knew she had a deep, abiding love for this community. She showered care on everyone who crossed her path. If they were perceptive enough, they would see the heart of gold at the core of the somewhat silly exterior. He was glad she'd made a friend in the older FBI agent. It would benefit them both to maintain a casual communication. It would give Millie a spark of excitement, and it would remind the agent of the simple, good things that existed alongside and despite the horrors he saw on a daily basis. They would help to balance each other.

Which reminded the doctor of the mischievous jokes the father-son duo engaged in from time to time. He had a feeling the older man had unknowingly defused the younger's first attempt to prank him. But, even beneath Aaron's slight sadness, he could sense the formation of another plan. He had a feeling that was growing stronger and stronger that the son just might win this time around.

Yes, this had been an interesting few days with some interesting people.

With a wide smile, the doctor opened Millie's door and joined the gathering.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The reaction to Millie's epic dessert was everything she'd hoped for.

When Rossi wheeled in the huge confection festooned with violets sparkling beneath their sugar coating, jaws dropped, eyes went wide. After a few seconds of silence, the doctor stood up and led the applause. No one seemed to mind that it was leaning a bit to the side or that Millie had run out of frosting and had used some of the copious amount of shaved coconut originally purchased for Mr. Roolies to finish the job.

What mattered was, it was impressive. None of her guests had ever seen anything quite like it.

Julio realized, as her boarder, he'd probably be eating cake for the next several days, if not weeks. He shot the doctor a nervous glance.

_Don't worry, priest…Julio…I'll ask her to bring some of the leftovers to the hospital. And if you get tired of dried mango and coconut, you're always welcome at my table._

_Thank you, doctor._

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When it looked as though everyone was occupied, Hotch tried to slip away unnoticed. Before he could make it all the way up the staircase, Rossi's voice stopped him.

"Aaron? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just thought I'd call home. I'm fine."

"Okay. Come back down when you're done?"

Hotch nodded and continued on his way. Rossi watched him go to his room and close the door, but not before he glanced back down at the older agent. _He's up to something. Doesn't have the fox-face yet, but he's definitely got the slinking weasel thing going on._ Rossi would have liked to sneak upstairs and listen at the door, but Millie's voice calling him back to the parlor prevented any eavesdropping on Hotch.

xxxxxxxxxxx

"Daddy!"

"Hey, Buddy. How's my boy?"

"I miss you, Daddy."

"I miss you, too. But I'll be home tomorrow. I'll pick you up in the afternoon. How does that sound?"

"Yay! Daddy's coming home!" Hotch could hear Jack's Aunt Jessie echoing his son's cheer of pure joy. A surge of fatherly love swept over him. He struggled to keep the catch out of his voice.

"I love you, Jack. I can't tell you how much I want to see you."

"Love you Daddy!"

Hotch laughed when he heard the phone clatter to the ground, as Jack ran off, shouting to his aunt that he was going to bed early so tomorrow would come faster.

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"Garcia?"

"Hotch! Ohhhh, sir! It's so good to hear you! Are you alright? How're you feeling?"

"It's good to hear you, too. I'm fine. I guess you know we'll be coming back tomorrow?"

"Yessir. Rossi let us know your schedule. Morgan and J.J. are planning on picking you up from the airport."

"That's great. It'll be good to see all of you again."

"Are you sure you're alright, sir?"

"Fine. Really. But, Garcia? There's something I need your help with."

"Sure. Anything. What is it?"

Hotch couldn't keep the grin out of his voice. "You know the Bureau's annual picnic is next month, right?"

"Uh-huh. They haven't sent out the announcement yet, but it's always in June."

"Well, it's gonna be really special this year. Rossi volunteered his place as the venue."

"You're kidding! He doesn't even like the team going over there! How'd you manage to get him to do that?"

"I promised him we'd take care of everything. He doesn't have to lift a finger. And, Garcia, he really doesn't even want to hear about it. Doesn't want to know any of the details. Doesn't want to see the announcement when it comes out. So, do you think you could let Human Resources know we'll handle the planning this year. And then…_could_ you help me setup the whole thing? It shouldn't be too hard. We'll just hire a caterer and plan some games for the kids and stuff. He's got that big back yard and grounds. But we have to keep everything strictly between us, okay? And I thought instead of letting everyone know ahead of time it'll be at Rossi's, we could charter a couple of buses, pick people up at the Bureau and deliver them to his place all at once. Does that sound like something we could put together? Maybe keep the location a surprise for everyone?"

"Oh, sir! This'll be so much fun! I'm gonna love this! I'll let the planning committee know they're off the hook this year and I'll get right on finding a caterer and booking a charter bus company. And…Oh! Should I rent some port-a-potties? That's what they've done at past venues."

Hotch felt his grin grow a little toothier. "No. The whole point is to make people feel they're at a friend's house. They can make themselves at home and use Rossi's facilities. And remember, he doesn't want to know _anything_ about it, or he might call the whole thing off. Got it?"

"You can count on me, sir!"

"Thanks, Garcia. I'm gonna enjoy this, too. See you tomorrow."

Hotch ended the call.

Rossi would have been truly alarmed at the expression on his friend's face. Fox was in the rearview mirror. Wily coyote was dead ahead.


	38. The Comfort of Company

When Hotch rejoined the group downstairs, Rossi gave him a few suspicious glances. Hotch tried to hang onto an innocent look, but it didn't come easy.

"Aaron?"

"Dave."

Rossi narrowed his eyes and gave his friend a sidelong look. Hotch was having a hard time keeping his lips under control. He didn't want to show too many teeth. It was a dead giveaway from the time he'd been a child. Dave had once told him that if he could see Aaron's incisors when he smiled, he knew something was up. Hotch's smile muscles were beginning to quiver, objecting to being held in, when the doctor stepped in and rescued him.

The old man had been off to one side, discussing something with Ana and Reid. He approached with Ana in tow. Stopping in front of Hotch, in the matter of fact way that was second nature to a long-time physician, he took the agent's face in his hands and inspected him.

"Hmmmmm. Son, you've been through a rough time. You still need rest." Releasing Hotch, he turned him around and pushed him back toward the stairs. "Go get yourself to bed. There's something the empath and I want to try that might cheer you up some."

Rossi's eyebrows shot skyward as he caught the Unit Chief's eye. This time he was the one trying to stifle a grin. He couldn't help emitting a tiny, choked-off snort.

"Oh, shut up, Dave." Hotch obediently retraced his steps up the stairs, memories of the morning's sponge bath making him a little nervous about whatever the doctor and Ana had in mind for him that required him to be in bed.

He forgot to take into account the psychic power surrounding him. The doctor's chuckle was a reminder that few thoughts were private among present company. "Relax, son. No one's coming anywhere near your boxers."

xxxxxxxxxx

Fifteen minutes later Hotch was between the sheets. To be on the safe side, he'd put on a t-shirt and sweat pants. While the others helped Millie clean up downstairs, the doctor and Ana came to his room. A light tap on the door presaged their entry.

Hotch sat up straighter, leaning his back against the headboard. The doctor ducked his head and smiled as he took a seat on the edge of the mattress. "It's alright, Aaron. You really do need rest. You have to make up for months of lost sleep. It's going to take more than one night to do that."

"Okay. But why do I have to be in bed for whatever you're going to do? And exactly _what_ are you planning to do to me?"

Before answering, the doctor reached over and brushed some stray hair off Hotch's forehead. The simple touch had power in it. Some of the tension drained out of the agent's shoulders, neck and chest. He slumped a little lower and felt his breathing deepen.

"You miss your friend, the telepath. I have a theory I'd like to test and I think it might make you feel a little less lonely…in there…" He tapped a finger against the center of Hotch's brow.

"What theory?"

"About me." Ana spoke up. "About the way I can have telepathy with Spencer. And used to have it with you, too…sort of. When Spencer was around anyway." Ana sat on the other side of Hotch's bed, making him feel like a child with both parents tucking him in for the night. "I'm not a telepath, Hotch, so we think maybe the reason I could communicate with you was that I have some kind of sympathetic mental vibration with Spencer's mind. He sort of dragged me along for the ride."

The doctor took up the explanation, his calm voice making extraordinary subject matter seem like the most reasonable thing in the world. "I believe the path that was opened into your mind, that caused you so much trouble, might still respond to the empath's brainwaves, independent of the telepath who created it. If I'm right, you two won't be able to speak the way true telepathy allows, but you would still be able to communicate emotions. You would still be able to feel each other's presence." He smoothed Hotch's hair back again.

"It won't be the sharp, intense contact you knew with the telepath, which is good. That's part of what created the shattered images, the ghosts, that were troubling you. But I think it might be a nice, intermediary step to help you while you heal…while the path closes down on its own."

Hotch couldn't pretend he really understood, but the way they were both looking at him, with so much hope and concern, he was willing to give it a shot. He didn't really have any expectations, though.

"Okay. So…what do I do?"

"Just relax. I'll keep watch over you. If I think anything's going wrong, I'll make it stop." He took Hotch's shoulders and pressed him down. "Lie back and get comfortable."

Hotch snuggled down, but found he was clutching the sheet and blanket covering him with fists pulled up against his chest. He trusted the doctor implicitly. But the anxiety he was feeling made him aware of how traumatized he'd been by the nightmare visions that had plagued him for months. It was a relief when the doctor rested a palm against his forehead. When the old man spoke, his voice was low and soothing; the words almost falling into the cadence of a chant.

"Lie back …close your eyes…breathe…slowly…I won't let anything hurt you, Aaron… that's a good boy…"

When he was satisfied with Hotch's state of relaxation and receptivity, the doctor nodded at Ana. She closed her eyes and slowed her own breathing, unconsciously mirroring Hotch's rhythm.

And then she did what she'd done since she was a very little girl. She unfurled what she thought of as her empathic antennae and went in search of Hotch.

When she found him with ease, she gave a small gasp. It wasn't the verbal communication she shared with Spencer, but it was absolutely, unmistakably Hotch. She smiled at what she could only describe as a nobility of soul. Happily, she cuddled up against it and was reminded of holding a puppy who needed lots of love and reassurance that he was a good puppy, a fine puppy, a puppy worth keeping.

Hotch smiled. He felt warm and safe. And the empty place that had been so dark and hollow didn't ache as much. He sighed and let himself drift.

The doctor waited until he was sure his patient had fallen asleep. Then he nudged Ana. She pulled back her antennae with gentle, delicate precision, opened her eyes, and smiled. The doctor looked pleased with how things had gone.

_Well done, empath. Do you think you can do this for him from time to time? Just to ease him along the way until he's fully healed?_

_Glad to. How long do you think it'll take before he's completely recovered?_

_Can't say. This is a unique situation. One I've never encountered before._

_He __**will**__ recover though, won't he?_

_I think so. But if you have any doubts about his progress, bring him back to me. Understand?_

_Yessir._

_Good. Now,…your telepath is worried. Go to him._

Ana left. The doctor remained for a few minutes, watching the peacefully oblivious face. He was aware when Rossi entered the room and approached the bed, curious and concerned.

"Is he alright?" The older agent whispered as he joined the doctor in watching his sleeping friend.

"He's fine. He's dreaming."

Rossi remembered how the nightmares had torn Hotch apart, eventually robbing him of his ability to function. He needed reassurance. "Good dreams, right? No more bad ones?"

The doctor let himself take a peek at the visions coursing through his patient's mind. Dream images rarely made sense, but what he saw was relatively clear and had unusual continuity.

"I see a large gathering of people. All ages. Looks like a park or a very big yard." The doctor looked up at Rossi. "I think he's dreaming about a picnic."

Rossi nodded. "Good. No harm in that."

A vulpine smile crept onto Hotch's lips. Rossi wasn't sure, but for a moment he thought he could see his incisors.

xxxxxxxxxx

With Hotch resting quietly, the doctor had accomplished what he'd come for when he'd agreed to attend Millie's dessert service. He took his leave of the rest of her guests, giving each a moment of his personal attention.

_Telepath, be mindful exercising your powers. It's alright to touch normal minds on occasion, but don't rest in them. You've seen the consequences._ He placed a hand on Reid's shoulder and smiled at him. _And don't be jealous of your empath's contact with Aaron. You have her heart. Let him have her help. _

Reid _had_ experienced a little frisson of jealousy. He knew Hotch would never threaten his relationship. When he inspected his own feelings and was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had no basis for any kind of resentment. He decided having a woman he could call his own was as new and novel to him as was his being psychic. He had a lot to learn about both. He also realized that he had a nervous spike of energy whenever he thought of Hotch, because he'd been meaning to ask him something important that made his mouth go dry just thinking about it. But he'd rehearsed the words a hundred times. _Hotch, when Ana and I marry, will you stand by me? Will you be my best man?_

Beginning to select members of the wedding made it suddenly real. As much as he wanted it, it still made him a little jittery.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Empath, you are unusual for your type. I suspect your gifts will grow and change over time, just as your telepath's will. But in different ways._ Tipping Ana's chin up, the doctor smiled into her eyes.

_You give hope and balance; things that are sorely needed by the ones you love, and by the world in general._ His smile broadened into a grin. _You will make a fine mother. And your children will be remarkable, too._

_Remember I'm here, if any of you or your descendants need the specialized kind of medicine I practice. And keep an eye on Aaron. You touch his emotions. You'll know first if he's in trouble._

Ana nodded. She wanted to say something wise or memorable…or maybe just 'thank you.' But the mention of motherhood left her speechless, blanking her thought processes. It also started the formation of a bubble of joy that just kept expanding and rising higher.

xxxxxxxxxx

The doctor shook Rossi's hand.

"You've been exposed to some things that challenge your faith. But I see a flexibility in you that manages to encompass new information and find ways to integrate it into something you can accept. That in itself is a great gift."

"Thank you , doctor. This is a weird place, to be blunt. But you saved someone I care for very much. It doesn't matter how, and I don't have to understand it. It worked. That's good enough for me." Rossi glanced up toward the closed door behind which Hotch slept without terror chasing him. "He'll be alright, won't he?"

The doctor grinned. It almost made Rossi think of Hotch's fox-grin. "Oh, I think you and he will be affectionately tormenting each other for a long, long time. Lifetimes, in fact. Many of them." The grin faded into a more solemn expression. "I know you aren't ready to believe that, but that might change. And someday such knowledge could be a comfort." The grin returned. "In the meantime, your son dreams of picnics. Very interesting picnics."

xxxxxxxxxxx

When he came to Julio Ruiz, the doctor simply nodded, patting his shoulder in passing.

_See you tomorrow, Julio. We have much to do._

_I look forward to it, doctor. Having much to do is a wonderful thing._

xxxxxxxxxxx

After everyone had retired and the old house grew quiet, Millie stood at her bedroom window and reviewed her favorite bits and pieces of the evening. There were quite a few.

When she finally pulled back the lacy, satin-trimmed duvet, looking forward to a good night's sleep, she noticed the corner of something small and white poking out from under the edge of her pillow. Her smile was fond, and a little sad, when she realized it was Dave's card…with a sweet plea for her to keep in touch… 'Call me, _please_.'

Millie pressed the card to her heart and sighed. It was lovely to be desired by such a gentleman, but she would have to find a way to tell him that it could never be. Her place was here. She couldn't leave this little town. What would the residents do without her? Local society would wither and wilt in her absence.

Millie sighed. Tomorrow she would have to find a way to let Dave down easy. They could keep in touch, as friends, but…_sigh_…nothing more, dear Dave. She looked at the card again and felt a thrill of anticipation. _This_ one would be framed to show the declaration of incipient desire. It would look perfect in her foyer immediately below the first one Dave had given her. And it would be proof to everyone who entered the B&B that Millie not only entertained the exotic and the darkly dangerous denizens of the outside world, but also inspired romantic fantasies in some of them.

Feeling deliciously validated as a woman of mystery, Millie slipped the card back beneath her pillow and fell asleep to dream of a satisfyingly tender scene to be enacted tomorrow between her and Mr. Rosie…_Dave!..._


	39. Fox vs Rossi

The flight out of the Adirondacks wasn't until midday.

Reid, Ana and Rossi packed up the rental car and let Hotch sleep in. When he finally emerged from his room, it was clear to those who knew him that his sleep had been restful, and restorative, and exactly what he needed most.

Millie had held breakfast for him. She called him into the dining room where a buffet of eggs, bacon and lots of leftover cake waited. As Hotch passed Ana, he gave her a shy smile. "Thanks for last night."

When he realized how what he'd said might be misinterpreted, he turned back, clumsy apologies trying to erase his unthinking comment. But she closed her eyes and, despite his not being relaxed, her empathic antennae sought him out with unerring accuracy. Ana was a quick study; she knew where to find him now. A small comforting touch made him stop stuttering at her, blink when he felt her presence, and then smile even wider.

Rossi watched the little scene as it played out. Ana and Reid had explained to him about providing Hotch with, in effect, a psychic security blanket to comfort him while he healed. Although grateful for the results, Rossi wasn't sure he completely understood. The idea of someone else accessing his mind was something he'd always find a little disturbing. But if it helped Hotch, he was fine with it.

xxxxxxxxx

While Hotch ate breakfast, Rossi poured himself a last cup of coffee for the road. He meandered into the dining room and took a seat opposite his friend. Hotch continued to eat, but he was making a very visible effort to keep chewing versus letting a wide grin appear. Rossi watched through narrowed eyes.

"What's going on with you, Aaron?"

"Nothing. I feel good, that's all."

Rossi nodded. He _did_ have to acknowledge what the Unit Chief had endured, and how relieved he must be to have come through to the other side of such a nightmare. _Speaking of nightmares…_

"The doctor and I watched you sleep for a little while last night." Hotch's grin waned a bit. "We wanted to be sure you're really on the mend."

"And?"

Rossi shrugged. "Seems so. You were dreaming, but it wasn't anything that turned scary. You were even smiling. Doctor said you were dreaming about picnics."

Hotch's fork froze halfway to his mouth. A lump of scrambled egg fell back to the plate with a faint, wet plop. His recovery was quick, but Rossi noticed the reaction. He watched his boss resume eating. _He's up to something…But __**what**__?_

Before he could pursue the subject any further, he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw their hostess smiling down at him, a regretful look in her eyes.

"Dave, we need to talk."

Those were words Rossi never associated with anything good, especially coming from a female. Confused, he stood up and turned to face Millie. _What is going on around here today? _He felt as though he was trying to jump onto a moving train. There were subtexts filling up the spaces and he couldn't even begin to read them.

"Of course. Is everything alright, Millie?"

She gave Hotch a coy glance, but he was studiously engaged in buttering toast. A little _too_ studiously to Rossi's eye.

"Perhaps we should speak in private."

Rossi shot Hotch a look, but the man was still involved with toast. Millie walked around the corner of the dining room entry, but stopped just outside. Rossi was sure they were still within Hotch's hearing distance, though.

"What is it, Miss Millie?"

With a dramatic sigh, she reached into the lace-trimmed bodice of her lilac-printed housedress. "This, Dave…this." Extracting a piece of card stock, she held it up for Rossi to see. It was his, but he didn't see anything worthy of private discussion. He'd given her one last time he'd lodged at the B&B. Then she flipped it over. Averting her eyes, she waited for her gentleman suitor to acknowledge the folly of his passion.

Rossi squinted at the message on the back of his card. It was definitely Hotch's writing. Even if he tried, the Unit Chief couldn't disguise it from his best friend…and a profiler to boot. _Stinking, slinking WEASEL!_

"Uh, Miss Millie, I don't know what to say…I , uh…."

Turning back with a graceful swoop she must have practiced to get it just right, the lady of the house pressed her palm against her bosom, Rossi's card sandwiched between her hand and her heart. "Please, Dave. Let me say the words that must be said."

"Alright." _That's what that scrawny, shifty weasel was doing. He went through my bag, snagged a card and left…__**this**__…for her to find. Probably put it somewhere intimate, too._ "Alright, ladies first, of course."

Millie gave him her best fond-but-tragic smile. "I _know_ there's an attraction between us, Dave. I felt it myself the last time you were here. But you must understand…" She brought her other hand up to join the first resting against her heart and Rossi's card. "…my place is here. I'm so flattered that you wish to continue our relationship, but it wouldn't be right for me to lead you on. I could _never_ be Mrs. Rosie, nor…" She blushed in what she hoped was a very becoming shade of pink. "…nor could I share your passion in any other…_illicit_ fashion."

Rossi watched , dumbstruck as Millie turned an odd, mottled red and realized she was genuinely blushing. _Do people still do that?_ He listened to her turn down his non-existent advances and could only stare, head shaking minutely from side to side in denial of the situation. When he thought she had finished what was clearly a rehearsed monolog, he managed to close a mouth that had dropped open, and did the best he could to respond in a gentlemanly, courtly, Millie-appropriate way.

"Miss Millie, you are a…lovely…lady. And I appreciate your telling me the, uh, limitations of…of…this." _Aaron, you're dead! I don't care how sick you've been. You're dead!_ "And I do understand." Rossi forced a smile and hoped it looked kind. For all he knew, with what he was thinking about Hotch, he might be baring his teeth like some feral beast bent on blood. "We'll just be friends, then."

"Oh, Dave! I just _knew_ you'd understand!" Millie turned and nearly waltzed to the far entryway leading away from the dining room and parlor. "Forgive me if I make this our farewell…it's for the best, dear, dear Dave. A-do." She disappeared from view after giving Rossi a butchered French goodbye and one final look… holding his business card to her lips, signaling regretful, star-crossed desire.

Rossi stared after her until some of the shock wore off. Then, clenching and unclenching his hands, he returned to the dining room. He approached from behind.

Hotch knew he was being stalked. He'd heard every word. He felt the palms of hands press against the outsides of his shoulders. He felt each finger in turn curl around, slowly, deliberately gripping with painful, inescapable pressure.

"Aaron…"

Hotch looked up at the grim face hanging over him. "_**That's**_ for picking my pocket and giving her _my _card." Then he gave Rossi the Full Fox, showing every tooth he had.

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By the time they reached Quantico, Rossi's thoughts weren't quite as vengeful as they'd been. In fact, they were more occupied with Hotch's words. They led him to believe that the Unit Chief was keeping score and more payback was in the offing. If that were the case, he'd have to be on the lookout for revenge concerning the incident of the overfeeding and, even worse, the sponge bath. That would be the one to fear most.

But, as days and then a couple of weeks passed without any sign of retribution, he began to relax. Hotch had clearly moved on.

Rossi was glad for more reasons than just the thought of evading any payback. It really had been a frightening thing to see his best friend deteriorate before his eyes. And that eerie, old doctor's certainty that he and Hotch were related and had missed each other this time around, haunted him. Rossi was still reluctant to believe in reincarnation, but sometimes when he looked at Hotch and thought back to those helpless hours watching him in the doctor's arms, seeing his torment, he had to admit that there was a comfort in thinking they'd always be tied to each other.

_I love him like my own. If it's true that I'll be his father again…and again…, I can live with it._ He smiled to himself. The thought of family lasting forever was appealing. Especially to a man who hadn't managed to form his own. _This time around, at least._

Cases came in and were worked. Consults passed across desks and were handled. Reid began making noises about wedding plans. When he asked Hotch to be his best man and Hotch accepted, looking genuinely touched at the honor, Rossi was even more sure the Unit Chief had abandoned thoughts of payback.

When he noticed on occasion that Hotch and Garcia were spending more and more time together sequestered in private conversation, he assumed it had to do with all the arrangements surrounding a wedding ceremony.

Life was back to normal.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Saturday.

June.

Barring any emergency, the team had the whole weekend off. Rossi planned to spend the day in complete, selfish luxury. In anticipation the night before, he had allowed himself to have a little more scotch than usual. After all, he'd be able to sleep in as late as he wished.

He looked forward to a morning of coffee and a good book while still in bed. Then a long soak in his Jacuzzi, followed by some quiet time playing in his state-of-the-art kitchen, reveling in the cuisine of Italy.

The long, honking snort of hydraulic brakes shot through his open bedroom window like a javelin, spearing his eardrums and skewering his brain with pulses of pain, thanks to the extra shots of scotch. This was not a sound he'd ever heard in his sedate, privileged neighborhood before. It merited investigation.

Rossi struggled out of twisted sheets and stumbled to the window overlooking his front drive with its exquisite landscaping. He blinked. It didn't help. He rubbed his hands over his face vigorously. It didn't change a thing.

His property was being invaded. And there was neither rhyme nor reason to what he was seeing.

Two large trucks had pulled into his driveway. Tables, benches, refrigerated carriers, and what looked like an immense amount of food was being offloaded onto his lawn, which already showed signs of heavy foot traffic.

"Hey! **HEY**!" It didn't do any good. No one could hear him yelling from the elevated height of his bedroom window over the cacophony of inexplicable and apparently unstoppable activity. Then the black sedan pulled in. The door opened. Out hopped a man in t-shirt and jeans. A man in full fox-face mode.

"AARON HOTCHNER, YOU DAMN WEASEL! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

The fox looked up and had the audacity to do a happy, little skip as he jogged across the lawn toward the people setting up God-knew-what, spilling over into the side and back yards as well.

Muttering incessant curses on the house of Hotchner, Rossi dressed as quickly as he could. Still, by the time he was downstairs, it was too late. The invasion was in full possession of his home. Hotch had a key. He'd let the horde of invaders in. People were in his kitchen, laying out catering supplies and setting up beverage service. It was useless to try and get them to explain. They were doing what they'd been hired to do. That was all they could say in response to Rossi's demanding questions.

Hotch was evading him. Everywhere he went, when he asked for the tall, dark guy who's in charge, he was either pointed in a different direction, or told that he'd just missed him. Going out to the front once again, Rossi saw the buses arrive. At least he recognized some of the people debarking. Bureau employees. That's when he put two and two together.

Picnic. Company picnic. And he remembered Aaron's dream and the grin he'd had even in his sleep. _Damn weasel was planning it even then!_ Despite his outrage, Rossi had to admit a certain amount of pride. Something so devious and well-planned deserved grudging respect. It was…_Machiavellian._

When he finally found Hotch, it was too late to stop the madness. Rossi walked up from behind him and draped an arm over his shoulders. He squeezed him into a one-armed hug until Hotch grunted with pain.

Through gritted teeth, as Rossi continued to increase the pressure of what onlookers would take for a companionable embrace, Hotch smiled. "**This** is for letting her overfeed me."

"Aaron, I hope it was worth it. Because I'm going to spend the rest of my life finding ways to make you pay." Then Rossi turned and planted a loud, Italian kiss on his friend's cheek. "But I have to say, I'm impressed."

It wasn't until much later when the picnic was almost over that Hotch's words penetrated Rossi's shock. _If __**this**__ was for the overfeeding, then what the bloody hell is he planning for the sponge bath incident?!_

It would be months before Hotch would let Rossi off the hook. Not until they were in California at Reid's and Ana's wedding. By then, he considered the trepidation and anxiety Rossi endured every day at every turn, wondering what his Unit Chief would do and when he would strike, to be payback enough.

Hotch felt it was appropriate. After all, Millie hadn't actually _removed_ his boxers.

_That_ would have been a different story…


End file.
